


Nothing is Forever

by flaming_muse



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: April Showers Challenge, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2003-08-02
Updated: 2004-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-18 10:17:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 36,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_muse/pseuds/flaming_muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after "Chosen," Spike and Xander meet again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> UNFINISHED
> 
> spoilers through "Chosen"
> 
> Originally posted to my LJ on August 2, 2003.

Xander sank back into the soft leather chair and enjoyed being off of his feet for the first time that day. The interior of the restaurant was cool and quiet compared with the humid, sun-baked city outside, and he let his eyes drift shut for just a moment as he opened the menu that the server had handed him. Yes, going out to dinner with his new co-workers was definitely going to be more relaxing than striking out in a new city and trying to find something to eat on his own after such a tiring day.

He had arrived in Boston the previous day and had been stunned by the oppressive heat that had greeted him as he had walked off of the airplane. Wasn't New England in September supposed to be all autumnal and filled with colorful leaves? Instead it was hotter than his home in Los Angeles, and he briefly reconsidered the wisdom of taking this job.

No, it would be good. He had been brought in as a consultant and project leader to supervise the renovation of the historic Fogarty building. It was more than an honor to have been chosen to head up the important project; it was an absolute joy. He had wandered that day through the musty floors of the grand old office building and had cheered his luck even as he had cursed the awful weather. It would be amazing when it was finished, and he was delighted to be able to be a part of the restoration.

It wasn't like there was much in LA to hold him back, anyway. His apartment was merely a place to sleep, and his friends were now scattered all over the world. When this opportunity had filtered down through the corporation he had worked for, he had jumped at the chance. All of the work that he had done in the past two years to prove that he was an asset to the company despite his vision impairment had paid off. Here he was in Boston, doing what was nearly his dream job. He loved working with historic buildings, and this Art Deco masterpiece was going to be glorious even if he had to hammer in every nail with his own two hands. With or without a hammer.

So Xander relaxed into dinner, letting the calm atmosphere of the restaurant wash over him as he and his companions perused the menus. Cold Comfort was set below ground level in a large cellar, but it felt airy with its high arched ceilings and slowly rotating fans. The walls were lined with panes of stained glass lit from behind, and the main lights were dim enough that the sprawling room seemed to bask in a multicolored glow. The clientele varied from groups of college students at the polished mahogany and brass bar to more sedate groups of business people like Xander's own. Chest-high dividers of carved mahogany and scatterings of potted plants allowed for privacy without the room feeling cluttered.

The food was good, too, as Xander learned over the course of the evening, as was the excellent selection of imported and domestic beer. He and the other two managers chatted casually about their work and their personal lives as they got to know each other, and Xander was at ease and nicely full when his attention was suddenly caught by a familiar profile across the room.

A tingle shot up his spine as he saw the elegant arch of neck and sweep of golden hair above a proud forehead. The same broad shoulders were clad in sleek black leather, and the nose was… no, of course not. Xander sat back and let the adrenalin rush from him as the man turned further away and was swallowed up in the far corner of the restaurant. It wasn't him. He was dead, dust. It was just his mind playing tricks, turning familiar shapes into faces, like seeing the man in the moon or catching a glimpse of your grandfather walking down the street two weeks after he had died. Although, in Sunnydale, that was entirely possible.

But this wasn't Sunnydale, and that man wasn't Spike. Spike was dead. It couldn't possibly be him. Not this time. Not here.

And yet, when Xander and his friends left Cold Comfort, he glanced once more at the back of the restaurant and saw the same familiar profile and felt the same tingle of recognition before he was dragged out into the muggy night.

No, Spike was dust, dead a second time to save the world. No amount of hopeful thinking or gazing upon attractive young men would bring him back.

*

Well, he had to eat somewhere, Xander thought to himself as he washed his face in the washroom sink. Why go through the trouble of finding someplace new if he already knew that he liked Cold Comfort?

He smiled wryly at his reflection. So what if the man wasn't Spike? He was still undeniably pretty, and if Xander had one weakness it was looking at pretty men. Despite Caleb's best intentions, he wasn't blind, and, despite his own best intentions and inhibitions, he wasn't in the closet anymore, either. Why not look?

Xander adjusted his eye patch – black, of course; the sparkly ones that Dawn had made for him were like Father's Day ties and only to be worn while the giver was present – and set out. He brought his portfolio of papers with him to the restaurant, fully aware that the man wouldn't be there and that he wouldn't speak to him even if he were, and settled into a cozy booth near the rear of the restaurant. He ordered his dinner and set to work, keeping half an eye out for the blond but mostly just enjoying the peace and getting his work done. He didn't really expect anything more than a nice meal and a reprieve from his hotel room.

When his steak arrived, Xander dug in and turned more of his attention to his fellow diners; there was no point in spilling something on his papers. He mused over the flirting couples and happy families as he enjoyed his meal. Then, a piece of potato halfway up to his lips, a laugh behind him caught his ear. It was a deep, rich laugh, and it sent shivers all the way to his toes. He knew that laugh.

"… keep him away from the dishwashers, then, if he's such a flirt. Tell Maurice that he can use his cleaver on him if he gets out of line." That rumbling voice. That accent. It couldn't be…

A waiter stepped around the corner, a man following close behind. Short blond hair. Black leather coat falling to lean hips. Skin like alabaster. Gleaming blue eyes framed by dark lashes. Smile to melt a man's heart.

Sure, the coat was shorter and the hair was maybe a shade or two more golden, but there was no question it was…

"Spike?" Xander said, his voice high and tight. He dropped his fork and scrambled to his feet, halfway to the vision in front of him before he realized that he had even spoken.

Those piercing eyes met his, and they conveyed a range of emotions from surprise to dismay to resignation in a flash.

"I'll go tell Maurice," the waiter said and disappeared.

Spike just stood there for a moment, his eyes now guarded as they raked over Xander's form. Finally, he spoke.

"Hello, Xander."


	2. Chapter 2

"What… what are you doing here? We thought you were dead," Xander said.

"I am," Spike said with a shrug. "More than a century. Must've missed the obituary."

"No, I mean… we thought you were _dust_. Gone."

Spike's lips quirked into a humorless grin.

"Sorry to disappoint."

"No, I… Spike, _what happened_? Where have you been?"

A commotion at the kitchen door caught the vampire's eye.

"Look, I'm rather busy here," he said. "Can't stay and chat. Enjoy your dinner."

Before he could move off, Xander caught his arm and was momentarily struck speechless by the feel of the strong muscles beneath his hand and the absolute reality that Spike was here and alive - or whatever - and right in front of him. He swallowed down the lump in his throat.

"You going to let me go, mate?" Spike asked, his eyes narrowing.

"You can't just run off now that I've found you."

"I've got other obligations..."

"But… Look, I've got a lot of work to do," Xander said, releasing the vampire's arm and gesturing to the papers on his table. "I'll be here all night. Come by when you have a minute. Please."

Spike looked like he was seriously going to refuse, but he finally sighed and nodded.

"Don't blame me if it's close to closing," he said and turned on his heel toward the kitchen.

Xander sat and tried not to fidget as he waited for Spike to return. He shuffled his papers and attempted to pay attention to them, but his brain seemed to be stuck on auto-repeat that Spike was alive and he was here. It was all he could do not to go running after him and demand to know everything.

It's not like the two men had been friends at the time of Spike's… well, obviously not death. But they had become sort of grudging compatriots. They were two bastions of testosterone in a house full of estrogen. (You couldn't really count Andrew; he had been more like a puppy. A comic book-reading, cake-baking, nervous little puppy.) They had both worshipped at the altar of Buffy, and they had been through a lot together. Sure, they had frequently been on opposite sides of the a lot, but there was history. By the end, there had even been some respect.

Then, when Spike had died to save the world, Xander had had to face a cold, hard fact. Despite all of their wrangling, he had actually liked the vampire. Yes, he had also hated him at some points with every fiber of his being, but he had turned out to be a good guy. He had supported Buffy when she had needed it most and had done the right thing at the end with no reward in return. When all of the dust had settled, Xander had found that he had missed him. He had mourned him.

Except now it turned out that none of that dust was actually Spike's. Instead the vampire was here in Boston, somehow involved in this restaurant, and obviously not happy to see Xander.

 _I guess the warm fuzzies weren't returned_ , Xander thought and forced himself back to his work.

Finally, close to midnight, Spike slid into the seat across from Xander. A waiter placed a plate of something rich and chocolaty at the edge of the table.

"What's this?" Xander asked.

"Dessert. A Chocolate Tornado. Seem to remember that you liked chocolate. Go ahead. It's all yours."

Xander moved the plate in front of him and took a bite of the confection.

"Mmm, good," he said. "I'll probably gain back twenty pounds for eating the whole thing, but I'm not sharing."

Spike smirked.

"You're looking good," he said. "Much trimmer than when I saw you last."

"Well, lots of hard work and fewer apocalypses seem to be good for my metabolism. Now stop interrupting me and let me eat. You talk."

"About what?"

Xander rolled his eyes and swallowed.

"You know damn well what. What happened to you?"

"Well, there was this party, and then Drusilla found me in an alley, and…"

Spike smirked again as Xander glared at him.

"Not much to tell," he said. "The amulet did its job, I guess, and I woke up sometime later with the clothes on my back and a mangled piece of jewelry. Saw a demon I know, sold the jewels, came east, ending up starting a restaurant."

"This is your place?"

Spike nodded.

"It's nice," Xander said.

"Thanks."

"But you kind of left out some stuff in your little tale," Xander said.

"Like what?"

"Like what the hell happened to you? I mean, the school fell on you. Hell, the whole damn town fell on you. How did you end up wherever you ended up? Where did you wake up, anyway?"

"The whole town? Really?" Spike looked both sad and impressed by the thought.

"Yeah. Supposedly a giant sinkhole or earthquake or something. It was all over the news. I'm surprised you didn't hear about it."

"Well, I was out of commission for a while. I remember being dusted, which was a bloody wild ride, and then I came to in some old warehouse in LA. Lucky, really, because I had contacts in the city. Turns out it was two months or so later than the day we went into the school."

"LA? Why didn't you go to Angel for help?"

Spike rolled his eyes and laughed.

"Like the Hair Gel Brigade would have helped me."

"Buffy was there," said Xander, setting down his fork on the now empty plate. "We all were."  
Spike's expressive face shut down.

"Didn't need help, did I? Did just fine. The amulet's magic was gone, but it was worth a pretty penny."

"And you didn't think that we'd want to know that you were okay?"

Spike shrugged.

"What - I was supposed to go rushing back and be welcomed with opened arms? To do what? Sit in the basement again until I was needed for muscle?"

"I see your point. I don't agree, but I see it. Still, you can't imagine how happy everyone's going to be to hear…"

"You don't tell them," Spike growled as he leaned across the table. Xander suddenly remembered how damn scary the vampire had always been. "You. Don't. Tell. Them."

"Spike, I…"

"I may have my soul, but I'm still chip-free, Xander. Don't think that I'm harmless. Don't tell them."

"Why?"

"Because I said so. That's enough. Do you think that I've forgotten how to use a phone these past two years?"

Xander stared at the beautiful, dangerous face in front of him until his eyes burned. He sighed, torn, but finally nodded.

"It's your business. I won't tell them." _At least I know. Spike's alive. Spike's alive._

"Good," said Spike, sitting back in his chair. "Well, it's close to closing time…"

"Don't you want to hear about everyone?"

Spike's mouth pressed into a tense line for a moment before he relaxed.

"Sure." He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

"Well, Willow and Giles are starting up a new Watchers' Council in England, and Andrew went with them. He has actually become quite helpful, believe it or not. They spent a while rounding up the new Slayers out there, trying to find 'em all and let them know about their powers, but now they're settling down and doing the book thing. Faith is off on the prowl as a Slayer-at-Large, as is Kennedy. They're working with the new Slayers. We hear from them off and on.

"Dawn graduated from high school this year, and she's off to Oxford now. I think she'll be a Watcher when she's done."

Spike's expression became less guarded at the mention of Dawn, and he almost smiled.

"She's great. We're all really proud of her. Especially Buffy."

And there went the barriers back up. It was no surprise, really, given how much he had loved her. Probably still loved her. Xander didn't relish telling Spike the rest of the news.

"Buffy's still in LA. She and Dawn have an apartment near… uh…"

"You can say his name. I won't bite. Might vomit, but..."

"Yeah, Angel. Most of us moved near him after everything, and Buffy's still there. She's still Slaying, and he's still doing the Not Really Evil Corporate Lawyers Fighting Crime thing. She's in college again, majoring in literature or something, and he's paying for it. But they're not together together or anything. Just friends."

Spike's bland expression didn't change.

"I know that you don't want them to know about you, but they'd really…"

"No."

"But maybe just Dawn…"

"She would let it slip out."

"But…"

"No, Xander," Spike said firmly.

Xander sighed.

"And what about yourself?" Spike asked. "You left yourself out of the story."

"Well, uh, I'm working for a company that builds new buildings and restores old ones. I'm out here working on the Fogarty building. It's right around the corner from here, just off of Harvard Square."

"But you live in LA, yeah? Just out for a visit?"

"I've got an apartment there, but I'm here for the duration of the restoration. I'll go back over the holidays to see Buffy and Dawn, but for all intents and purposes I'm a Bostonian now."

If anything Spike's expression grew even more unreadable.

"And what about Anya? Will she come visit, or has she found some profitable venture on her own?"

Xander was proud to say that he no longer teared up at the mention of her name, though he did have to clear his throat before he spoke.

"She died. At the school."

For the first time of the night, Spike's face was entirely candid as he took in the news. He looked genuinely distressed.

"I'm sorry to hear that. She was a good lady, and you two seemed to be on a road to reconciliation."

"She was a great person, but we never would have worked out. I realize that now."

"That's how life goes sometimes."

"I've learned a lot about myself these past two years. Still miss her, though."

"Yeah."

They sat in silence for a moment before Spike looked over at the bar.

"Well, I've got to help with closing," Spike said, bracing his hands on the table to slide out. "Take care, Xander."

Xander reached out and clasped one of Spike's hands. The vampire looked at him, startled.  
"I'm really glad to have seen you, Spike," he said, drinking in his face and wishing that he could make him stay. "You look good. A little different, tired maybe, but good. Are you good?"

Spike smiled slightly, his eyes oddly devoid of emotion, and nodded.

"Take care," the vampire said and slipped away.


	3. Chapter 3

Xander frequented Spike's restaurant at least once a week for the next month, though he never ate there alone again and he never spoke with Spike. The vampire made sure of that.

Spike kept a close eye on him but was careful to stay out of his sight. He did allow himself the luxury of memorizing the strong lines of Xander's face, which were somewhat more mature than he had remembered and only slightly marred by the eye-patch that he now wore so comfortably, but he refused to let himself be drawn in again. That way lay only pain, and he bloody well had learned his lesson. He wouldn't get involved with humans, particularly Scoobies, not in any way other than taking their money and perhaps their blood. Not again.

Spike was relieved to realize after seeing Xander come in with his co-workers a few weeks in a row that the man was in fact making no attempt to search him out other than to cast curious glances around the restaurant once in a while. Those glances probably weren't even for him. If the vampire was in some small way disappointed by that fact, he refused to acknowledge it. Instead he focused on being relieved that he wouldn't have to move on again now that he had finally made a small place for himself.

So it was with some surprise that he heard his name being called a few weeks later by that very same laughter-filled voice that he heard increasingly frequently in his unsettled dreams. Of course, this time the laughter was not mocking but full of cheer and perhaps more than a bit too much alcohol.

"Spike!" Xander called again, and the vampire turned away from the hostess stand where he was checking on the next night's reservations to face his old - well, they were never friends, were they? - to face Xander, the young man who had taunted him for so many years and who seemed finally to have escaped the Hellmouth for good. It was too bad that he had escaped to Boston to taunt Spike with old memories, but...

"Did you have a nice meal?" he asked with professional courtesy, pitching his voice to include the rest of Xander's group.

"Yeah, the salmon special was excellent," Xander said. His eyes were bright with his intoxication. "The mustard-dill sauce made my toes curl. You should put it on the regular menu."

"Thank you for the suggestion. Enjoy the rest of your evening," said Spike, turning back to the leather-bound book.

"No, wait, Spike. I want to talk with you."

"About what? The restaurant business? 'Cause that's all that I can see that we have in common."

"Well, yeah, actually, that would be interesting," Xander said with a smile. "I mean, why'd you pick a restaurant of all things, and why did you come to Boston, and...?"

"Your friends are waiting," Spike said pointedly. "Don't let me keep you."

"Damn it, Spike!" Xander moved in closer, his good humor suddenly gone. "Why won't you talk to me?"

"I was under the impression that we _were_ talking."

"Look, tomorrow is Saturday. I don't have to work. Let's get together and talk."

"About _what_?" Spike asked sharply, trying to keep his voice low so as not to disturb his customers. "What is there to say? Are you going to try to coax me back into the Scooby fold? Do you need a lapdog while you're in Beantown? Just give it up, Harris. I'm not interested." He turned his back on Xander, found the information that he needed in the book, and was surprised to find his exit blocked by the broad chest of the other man.

"No Scoobies, Spike. No lapdog. Just us," Xander said quietly. "You know me. I've always been honest with you. I won't lie and say that I don't want to know what happened to you, but I want to know what's going on with you _now_ more. Come on. One conversation. I'll buy you a beer."

"Saturday is a busy day for us," said Spike, hating himself for feeling his resolve wavering under the kindness and concern in Xander's expression. "I should be here." Not that his highly-efficient staff couldn't take care of any problem, but spending all of his waking hours at the restaurant kept him from thinking about the void that was the rest of his unlife, so...

"Then I'll come by. When's good? Two?"

Spike called himself a thousand kinds of fool as he nodded, drawn by Xander's compassion. He knew that he was setting himself up to get burned again, but what was the harm of one beer and a few tall tales for old time's sake?

 _Idiot_ , he thought.

"Great. I'll see you at two. G'night," said Xander. At Spike's nod, he rejoined his friends and wandered off with them into the night.

 _I'm such a stupid git. I'm never going to bleeding learn, am I?_ Spike thought miserably and went back to work.

*

Just before two, Xander descended into Cold Comfort and asked the hostess to tell Spike that he was there. The lunch crowd had thinned, but the restaurant was still mostly full, and the staff was busy taking care of their customers. It took a few minutes for Spike to arrive, and Xander watched his progress across the restaurant with interest.

The vampire appeared to be in his element, sleek and striking in his plain black t-shirt and jeans, and his staff scurried around him, asking questions and taking instructions. He was wholly at ease as he directed them, and Xander was suddenly struck with how gloriously masterful Spike must have been when he took over the vamps in Sunnydale. As quick with a smile as he was with a sharp word, he seemed to know exactly what to do to get people to do his bidding.

 _The staff are like his underlings_ , Xander thought. _Human underlings, yeah, but looking up to him for everything anyway. They know what's expected of them, and they are all scrambling for his attention and approval. Just like vamps, except that there's no growling or anything, and the staff aren't blood-sucking demons... Wait, are the staff vampires? Or other kinds of demons? Just what kind of place is this?_

"Come on back," Spike said to Xander as he reached him. He turned around and walked toward the rear of the restaurant without waiting to see if he was being followed.

Of course, Xander trailed after him without hesitation, though he glanced warily at the staff as he passed.

They walked by the entrance into the kitchen and turned into a darkened corridor beyond it. Spike opened a wooden door about halfway down the narrow hallway and ushered Xander inside. As soon as the door closed the sounds of raised voices and clanging pans were no longer audible.

"Have a seat," Spike said, gesturing to a long leather couch along one wall and sliding into the matching chair behind his paper-covered desk. "Just give me a second to finish up with these invoices, and I'll be with you. There's always more bloody paperwork."

Xander used the moment of silence to look around the office. It wasn't large, but the furniture was comfortable and the lights soothing. Bookshelves lined two walls, while a large painting hung above Xander's head opposite the desk. He couldn't see the design without being obvious about turning around, but he could tell that the colors were dark and rich. Behind Spike were four panels of the same lit stained glass as in the main part of the restaurant, and the multi-colored light shone over Spike's fair hair as he bent to his work.

In the corner by the door was a coat stand, and on it was the short leather jacket that Xander had seen Spike wear that first night.

"Finally gave up the duster?" he asked.

Spike looked up from the papers in his hands.

"No. It's at home. Wouldn't do to scare the customers." He scrawled something across the bottom of the page before placing it on one of the piles on his desk.

"So you said something about a beer?"

"Wouldn't say no," said Xander.

Spike leaned down, and Xander heard the clink of bottles. The vampire pulled two beers out from behind his desk, removed their caps, and handed one across to his guest.

"Your own private stash? The job drives you to drink, eh?" asked Xander, taking a sip and settling back on the couch. With the vampire looking at him over the expanse of the desk he felt a bit like he was on a job interview.

"Sometimes," said Spike. He leaned back with apparent casualness. The stillness that had seemed to come naturally after the return of his soul was in full force, and his eyes seemed old, fathomless as they fixed on Xander. Unlike the Spike that Xander first knew, who never stopped talking, this one appeared to be unwilling to open his mouth. Combined with the guarded mystery in those eyes, the vampire was entirely unnerving.

"So, uhh...," Xander began, searching for something to say. He trailed off uncertainly.

"You're the one who wanted to talk, mate."

It was incredible that one glance from those cerulean eyes could erase Xander's now usual ease at conversation and turn him back into the bumbling loser who went to Sunnydale High. It was stupid. He talked to people all the time. Why should Spike be any different?

He took a deep breath and tried again.

"Yeah, but I didn't know that I'd have to direct the discussion."

Spike shrugged.

"No problem with me if you want to drink your beer in silence."

"Maybe we should start with world affairs," Xander said. "Boston politics? The Red Sox?"

"Don't keep up much with that sort of thing," Spike said blandly, the corners of his mouth turning up in a hint of a smile. Damn him, he was enjoying Xander's discomfort!

"What about demon politics? Hey, do demons have baseball teams?"

"Not baseball, no, though there is an interesting variation on football that doesn't use an actual ball..." Spike smirked.

"Never mind. I _so_ haven't missed the icky part of the Scooby life."

"Don't worry; only the first couple of rows get spattered with gore, and you'd never be able to afford those seats anyway. They're in high demand."

"Now there's a visual that I really didn't need. Why don't you tell me about your restaurant?"

"I didn't realize that this was an interview. Will there be an article about me coming out in the next Wankerswear Weekly?"

"I'm just interested. How long have you been here? Was it difficult to start up?" Xander asked.

Spike set his bottle down atop his desk with a hollow thunk.

"Just tell me what you want, Harris," he said, his calm demeanor becoming somewhat frayed around the edges.

"What I want? What makes you think I want something?"

"We're not friends. We never have been friends. We weren't even the sort who would have a beer together. So what do you want? The miraculous story of my reappearance so that you can run off and tell the new and improved Council of Watchers? Or does your building have some demons that need to be squashed? Or maybe your drains need to be cleaned. What the bleeding hell do you want?"

Xander was taken aback at the coldness in Spike's eyes. Sure, they had asked for his help a lot, but that wasn't the only reason that they dealt with him... was it?

 _Of course it was_ , Xander reminded himself. _There hadn't been time for anything else by the time that there could have been something else._

"Maybe I'm trying to turn a new leaf," Xander said. "I mean, we _could_ have at least been drinking buddies, at least during those last months against The First. Maybe I'm trying to make up for past mistakes."

"Or maybe you and the rest of you Scoobies just hate to let anything or anyone go. You were happy to see me dust and gone, but now that it turns out that I wasn't so gone as previously assumed you lot want to suck me back in and use me until I'm dust again. Or do the Watchers want to do experiments on me? Does Giles have something else he wants to stick in my brain?"

A flare of anger rose in Xander's gut.

"And how have I shown anything other than interest and concern for your well-being now?" he asked. "Have I interrogated you about how you got back? Have I told my friends about you? Have I bothered you in your own restaurant? Have I asked you to kill one damned thing? No. I've left you alone, as you so obviously want, and I haven't told a single person about you, even though I am going crazy with the news. Not because I want to use you, but because you were _dead_ , and I _mourned_ you, - hell, I even _missed_ you! - and now you're here, and I want to enjoy that fact."

Xander's words suddenly ran out, and he looked everywhere but Spike.

"But I get that you don't want to have anything to do with me," he said after a moment of utter silence in the room. "You're right; we weren't friends. I get that you don't want to be. Why would you? I'm sorry that I've bothered you. I can't promise that I won't come in here again, since the food is damned good and my coworkers like coming here, but I won't try to talk to you anymore."

He set his bottle down carefully on the small table next to the couch and got to his feet. He dared one last look at the vampire, one last opportunity to look into his bright blue eyes. Spike sat there, unblinking, his face a mask of... something. He had always carried his emotions on his sleeve, on his face, but Xander couldn't read him this time.

"You probably won't believe me, and why would you, but I really am happy that you're okay, Spike," he said quietly and left the office.


	4. Chapter 4

It took a while, but finally Spike's brain started to function again enough to make himself blink. He was gobsmacked by what Xander had said, and it was through sheer force of will that he didn't use every bit of vampiric speed to chase after the man and shake him until he was certain that he was telling the truth. No, no, he had made an entirely sensible and rational decision to stay away from his old life, and he was going to stick to it, no matter how much care and concern Xander happened to show him; history had demonstrated that it was when he deviated from his plans that things tended to go terribly wrong.

Making his decision hadn't been nearly as easy as he had made it sound when he had told Xander about his seemingly miraculous reappearance. When he had first opened his eyes and had realized that he wasn't actually part of the dust coating the warehouse floor, his thoughts had immediately flown to Buffy and everyone else at the school. Had he failed? Where was he? How had he gotten there? What the hell was going on? He had clambered to his feet and rushed to the door, too concerned even to register whether it was night or day. Fortunately for him, it was evening, and the moment that he had stepped outside he had known where he was. Nowhere else on earth smelled quite like Los Angeles.

So he was in LA, he wasn't dust, and, according to a sheet of newspaper that he snatched from the air as it fluttered past him, it was July.

"July?" He stared at the paper in his hand.

Two months since he had felt himself burning up in that final conflagration. The world didn't seem to have gone entirely evil, unless you counted the newest spate of reality TV shows that the networks were touting on the page that he held. The Scoobies must've done okay, then. They must've won. But why was he not a big pile of dust and why the hell was he in LA?

Spike turned to look back at the floor of the warehouse and wandered around the empty space. There were no tracks but his own, yet the dust seemed to form faint geometric shapes around where he had lain. If it was a spell, it was a long-distance one. There was no one else around.

In the middle of his imprint was something sparkling, and he reached over to pick it up. Twisted and charred though it was, it was still recognizably the amulet. He stared at it in his hand for a long moment, remembering Buffy calling him a champion when she had given it to him, remembering the pride that he had felt and also the fear. He was no champion. He knew it. He was just the best that they had had. He hoped that it had been enough.

He suddenly felt tired beyond even his many years as he pocketed the amulet. It was time to find out what had happened. Time to find his brooding grand-sire's evil law firm and see if he could get some answers. If anyone would know what had happened, it would be Angel. Then he could find Buffy and…

And what? Find Buffy and what? She didn't love him, not like he wanted, and he knew that she never would. Sure, she had come to depend on him, and he valued her trust more than almost anything she could have given him, but he was still not really a part of the team. The Scoobies didn't trust him, and they had history enough that they were smart not to start. Soul or no soul he was still Spike. He could never be one of them.

So if he went back to Buffy, what would happen? At best, he'd be the vampire in the basement or the closet - sorry, "spare room." He'd be the extra muscle, the guy who hung out in the shadows in the back of the room. With all of the other Slayers out there, Buffy wouldn't need him as her lieutenant, wouldn't need him to watch her back. He'd just be another sorry hanger-on, a groupie, someone for the new Slayers to fear and the older ones to distrust. Even the Scoobies were uncomfortable around him and saw him as an outsider regardless of his loyalty. If he was with them, he'd just watch his indifferent companions potentially age and definitely die while he existed in limbo with no life of his own but the pain of constant if subtle rejection. And that was at best.

He looked back at the geometric patterns on the floor and felt the weight of the amulet in his pocket.

"I'm not a bloody champion," he had declared to the empty room. "I'm just a bloke trying to get by, trying to do the right thing day by day. I don't know why I've got another chance at this, but I'm sure as hell not going to waste my new lease on unlife being miserable. I know I deserve punishment, but I don't have to seek it out."

So Spike had pried some of the gems out of the amulet and had sold them quietly to a demon he knew. Then he took off across the country, getting as far away from California as he could.

Sure, he had been horribly torn over not contacting Buffy, but he knew that it made sense. As much as he wanted to be by her side until the next end, it wasn't the right choice. What would it serve but creating more pain? Didn't they both deserve better? Buffy didn't need him, the Scoobies didn't want him, so what was the point in letting them know that he was alive? They probably weren't grieving now, so why bring up the past and get entangled again? They all were moving on, living their new lives. Even him.

But he had to be sure. So before he left he had made an inquiry through one of his contacts. He had to know if certain people had survived the battle. Buffy, obviously. Dawn, of course. Willow, because she and he had had more in common than they had been willing to admit and because he had always liked her. Xander, because… because they should have been friends after so many years and yet had never quite gotten there. So he had sent out his request for information and had gotten his one-word answer in reply. "Yes." They were all alive. He had allowed himself a brief, wistful smile, and then he had left town. He had not looked back.

Except now here was Xander unexpectedly showing up in his restaurant three thousand miles away, and not only did the boy - man - want to talk with him but he seemed actually to have missed him and to have regretted how things had been between them. Spike knew that letting himself come near any of the Scoobies was to be allowed briefly in and then to be rejected again as the novelty of the resurrected vampire wore off, but it was Xander, and he was here, and he of all of them, the one who had hated him the most, somehow wanted to have something to do with Spike.

A spark flared deep in the vampire's heart, and he couldn't put it out.

And so he found himself two weeks later watching Xander from across the restaurant. The young man was clearly trying to stay focused on the conversation with his companions, but he kept glancing about nervously before forcing himself to pay attention again. Spike let himself enjoy the man's familiar face for a moment before turning away to answer the questions of his staff, who always seemed to congregate around him when he was on the floor. Yet he couldn't keep himself from looking up time and time again to check on Xander, not sure whether he was hoping for the man to have noticed him or not.

The sharp flash of excitement that rushed through him as they unexpectedly locked eyes answered that question. Spike berated himself soundly when he didn't look away but was held to the spot by the intensity of Xander's gaze. Xander watched him sadly for a moment and then ducked his head, returning his attention to his plate.

Spike sighed, disentangled himself from his employees, and retreated to his office. Grabbing a bottle from the small fridge beneath his desk, he took a long swig of beer and leaned back in his chair. He tried desperately to think of nothing, to keep his so easily awoken heart from thawing, to remember all that he had built over the past two years, and to forget how achingly lonely he had been. He knew that he didn't want human friends, didn't want demon allies, didn't want anything in his life taking from him and not giving, not anymore.

And yet… and yet… he was a social creature, and he could admit that he had always been desperate for affection. Here was someone whose warm, giving heart he had laughed at so frequently and whose loyalty was unbounded, and if he wanted to be friendly with Spike then how on this earth was he supposed to be strong enough to refuse?

"I am such a git," he said as he took another sip of beer.

Here he was, a century-old vampire with more blood on his hands than all of the human serial killers in prison put together, and he was wondering how he was going to stay away from one glorified bricklayer and - don't forget - expert bowler whose open smile promised the acceptance and companionship that he had desperately craved for so long.

"By not moving out of this goddamned chair, that's how, you soft-hearted pillock," he growled to himself. "I've been down that path, and I'm not doing it again. I'm not one of them and never will be. I'm not putting my head on the block for them. Not going to bloody happen."

There was a brief knock on his door.

"Yeah?"

Anne, the assistant manager, poked her head in.

"Sorry, boss, but there's a guy here who wants to organize a private party for the night of Hallowe'en. He wants to book the whole place," she said. "Jason's busy, so I wondered if you could handle it."

"Send him in."

Good. Work. That'll take his mind off of…

 _Bollocks!_

Xander walked through the door, his gaze everywhere but on Spike.

"Look, I'm sorry," Xander said, brushing a hand through his hair and fiddling with the manila folder in his hands. "My boss told me to take care of it, and he wanted to do it here, and I didn't know that I'd have to talk to you. I'll have my assistant take over once I've hired an assistant, but I have it down to two people so it won't be more than a week or so, and…"

"You do realize that it'll be expensive to book the entire restaurant for the night," Spike said, using his patented customer-relations voice. This was business. He could do business. The situation didn't have to get personal at all, and he wasn't stupid enough to turn down a paying customer just because of his own past weaknesses.

"The boss is flying in people from everywhere to see the building. He doesn't care about the cost," Xander replied. He set the folder on Spike's desk and backed off quickly toward the door. "There are the details. I tried to write out everything, but if you have any questions my number's on the…"

"I'm not going to bite you." Spike plastered a polite smile on his face.

Xander looked up at him, startled, and then looked away again.

"I didn't think you were. I mean, with the soul and everything, I assumed that you weren't big on the biting anymore, and…"

"Harris!"

Xander closed his mouth and met Spike's eyes.

"We've gotten off on the wrong foot here," Spike said, putting the folder back on his desk and rising to his feet. "You're obviously going to be in the area for a while, and there's no reason for us to be tiptoeing around each other. Right?"

Xander nodded.

"So don't worry about it. We'll plan your party, and you can eat here without worrying about me, and that's that. No worrying about the past. Just a friendly business relationship. Okay?"

Relief bloomed across Xander's face. If there was some sadness still visible in his eye, Spike firmly ignored it.

"Okay. Sorry. Thanks."

Xander extended his hand to shake on the deal. As soon as Spike touched the other man's skin, he knew that he had made the wrong decision. He should have run away from Xander the moment he had set eyes on him, because now his warmth shot straight from his fingers to lodge in his chest, and Spike knew all too well that his plans of distance and professionalism were, like so many of his plans over the years, shot entirely to hell.


	5. Chapter 5

Xander's cell phone rang somewhere in the midst of the disaster area that was his new apartment, and he dug through the piles of boxes and bags to find it. Finally he located it under a rolled-up area rug, and he flipped it open.

"Alexander Harris."

"I'm so sorry to bother you, Mr. Harris," came the voice of Cassie, his new assistant, from the tiny speaker. "I know you're moving in today, but the main office just called and said that there's some paperwork you need to sign ASAP."

"First of all and not for the first time, please call me Xander." He checked his watch and then brushed his sweaty hair back from his forehead. "Secondly, I've got some furniture being delivered within the next hour, if they can be trusted *this* time with their estimate, and I can't get over there anytime soon. Can you send someone over with them?"

"Right away. I'm really sorry to bother you."

"I'm moving into a new apartment on a horrible rainy day with no phone hookup, an elevator that has stopped working twice today for no reason, a superintendent who doesn't seem to want to fix it, and a furniture delivery that is four hours late. A couple of signatures is no problem at all. You have my new address?"

"Yes, sir."

"Great. Thanks, Cassie."

Xander hung up his phone and shoved it in the pocket of his ratty jeans. There was no sense in losing it all over again.

He was back in the bedroom trying to shove his garment bags full of clothes into the cramped closet when there was a knock on the apartment door.

"Come in!" he yelled, struggling to get the tangled hangers to hook onto the already sagging wooden bar. Since he had gone into management, he had had to purchase dozens of suits, shirts, and slacks, and it looked frighteningly likely that they would be too much for the cheaply-built closet.

"Another thing I'll have to fix," Xander muttered, stuffing the bags inside and pulling the hinged door shut. The knob came off in his hand, and he questioned for not the first time the wisdom of taking an apartment because of its proximity to his work and not because of its amenities. He tossed the knob onto the ground next to the closet. "Tomorrow."

"I would have thought that years of life in Sunnydale would have taught you never to invite just anyone into your home," a voice drawled from the doorway.

There stood Spike, calm and collected in a button-up black shirt and jeans. His duster, the one that he had worn for so many years, was somewhat damp but in its proper place on his lean frame. He looked as perfectly composed as Xander felt sweaty and rumpled.

"I thought you were the furniture delivery people," Xander said stupidly. He wiped the sweat from his eyes with the sleeve of his faded Sunnydale High t-shirt.

"As you see, I am not," said Spike. *Spike*, who was in his apartment, in the doorway to his bedroom, talking to him.

"What are you doing here? Isn't it day? Not that the whole sunlight thing ever seemed to stop you from going wherever you wanted, but..."

"Have you looked outside? It's raining so hard I thought about taking an ark. And I came over because I have things for you to sign." Spike reached into the pocket of his duster and pulled out a roll of papers.

"Shit, Cassie asked *you* to be her courier?"

"Well, the paperwork is for me, so this way I can take them back to the restaurant with me and fax over the copies to your boss for his records."

"Right. Let me find a pen." Xander managed to tear his eyes away from the remarkably aesthetically-pleasing sight of Spike in his doorway and looked around at the chaos. "Uh... it might take a minute."

"Here." Spike pulled a slender silver-colored pen from an inner pocket of his duster.

"Wow, that's nice," Xander said as he accepted it. He unrolled the papers against the wall and scrawled his signature in the marked spaces.

Spike shrugged and leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb.

"I nicked it from some bloke I ate back in the 80s. Hasn't given me any trouble. Not like him; he screamed bloody murder... well, until the actual bloody murder."

Wrinkling his nose, Xander flipped to the next page that needed his signature. He guessed from the overly bland tone of Spike's voice that he was just trying to get a rise out of him. The thought that Spike was willing to put even that much effort into the conversation made a warm little ball of something form in his stomach.

"Are all of your possessions trophies?" Xander asked. "Coat, pen..."

"Nah. If I like something then I stick to it. See no need to change."

"Hence the bleach and leather look decades past the seventies."

"As I said, if it works..."

Xander handed the papers and pen back to Spike.

"Sorry to drag you over here for that," he said. "Especially since it's kind of your sleep time, right?"

Spike shrugged again.

"I was up."

"Still keeping weird hours?"

"I don't need much sleep."

"Yeah, you never did," said Xander. "Hey, I got a letter from..."

"So, new place?" Spike asked quickly. "I like the decoration. Very chaotic-minimalist. I hear it's a big trend in New York."

Xander laughed and allowed the conversation to be turned away from things past. Anything to keep Spike there. Xander's fingers itched to touch him, to confirm that this vision in black leather was really in his apartment, but he forced himself to be calm.

"Thanks. I'm calling it tornado-chic."

Spike smirked and nodded back toward the living room. "It does have that cows-and-trailers-hurtling-through-the-air look. Need more manure, maybe."

"I'll keep that in mind. God, I'll be glad for the couch and the bed when today is over; I'm already exhausted, and I really don't want to sleep on the floor."

"Besides that, it's easier to seduce the ladies when there's a bed to fall into. You've got to have priorities, mate."

Xander laughed again, this time more nervously.

"I'm not big on seducing the ladies," he said.

"What? Don't tell me you can't find any more demons to show an interest in you. You're employed, not entirely repulsive to look at, and you don't smell nearly so bad as you used to..."

Xander flipped Spike the finger and returned his grin.

"Actually," he said, using the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, "it's kind of funny, but it turns out that I'm not so big on the ladies at all, demon or otherwise."

As he released the shirt to fall back over his stomach, he met Spike's gaze, and his mouth went completely dry. For just a moment, there was a flash of *something* in Spike's eyes, something dark and primitive and very, very compelling, and then the smirking veneer fell back into place.

"Is that right?" Spike asked, examining his nails. Xander noticed that they were unpolished but were bitten to the quick.

"Yeah. And how I figured it out is a funny story that I *so* won't be sharing right now."

"Well, I imagine blokes like a nice bed, too."

"Actually, I've found that we're not nearly so picky," said Xander with a weak grin. He desperately wanted to get off of this topic of conversation, but he didn't want to say the wrong thing and end the uneasy conversation entirely.

Spike just raised an eyebrow.

"Uh... I mean, we seem to be less bothered by icky substances and unromantic settings. We're more... uh... practical, I guess."

Xander wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed when his cell phone rang and interrupted his ramble.

"Just a sec," he said to Spike as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. "This had better be the delivery guys."

It was indeed the delivery guys, and they were extremely annoyed to find that the elevator in Xander's building was out of order.

"If you'd gotten here a couple of hours earlier it would have been working," Xander snapped after a few minutes of whining. "Just take the stairs. It's only three flights."

He ended the call and shoved the phone into his pocket.

"Was it really working earlier?" Spike asked.

"The elevator? Off and on. So it might've been."

"And you're going to make them carry a sofa up to the fourth floor?"

"Yep. And my bed. They're nearly five hours late, with no explanation or apology. Want to have a beer and watch?"

Spike looked around the room and then back at him. His surprise was evident.

"You've got beer?"

"I may like to fuck guys, Spike, but I am still a man. I have no dishes, no furniture, and no phone, but I do have beer."

Spike blinked and nodded.

"Right, then. On to the entertainment."

The deliverers, knowing full well that they were at fault and perhaps a bit cowed by the tone of Xander's voice, began the slow process of lugging the furniture up to Xander's apartment.

Spike and Xander leaned against the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room and watched for the first few trips, but Xander's inherent kindness soon overcame his annoyance and he pitched in to help get the bulky king mattress up the stairs.

Even Spike shrugged off his coat and helped when the movers had trouble getting the couch around the corner of the hallway and into the apartment. He took the weight of the sofa with ease and lifted up his end high enough that they could make the turn.

"Thanks for that," Xander said somewhat breathlessly after the delivery guys finally left. "I don't think we would have gotten the couch in here without you."

"I was worried that I'd never be able to leave if you lot got it stuck in the doorway."

"Yeah, and I don't even have cable yet." Xander wandered into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. "Want another beer?"

"Wouldn't say no. At least there's a place to sit now."

"I'm afraid to try it. I might not get back up again." He twisted the caps off of the bottles and handed one to Spike over the counter.

"It looks..."

Xander's phone rang again, and he set down his beer.

"Sorry," he said. "It's probably Cassie. I'll just be a sec. Why don't you try out the couch?"

Spike wandered over to the sofa, which currently sat kitty-cornered by the front door in the only clear bit of floor, and lowered himself down onto the deep, molasses-colored cushions. He sat at the edge for a moment and then leaned back comfortably and spread his arms along the rear cushions.

It took a second for Xander to remember what he was doing as he took in the graceful, black-clad figure reclining on his couch. Spike looked totally relaxed and absolutely, unquestionably fuckable.

*Fuckable? No, no, not fuckable. He's *Spike*. Okay, yes, he's drop-dead gorgeous, but he's also actually dead. And, you know, doesn't want anything to do with me. And he's probably still in love with Buffy. And he's...*

The phone rang again in his hand, and Xander turned away slightly before he flipped it open.

"Alexander Harris."

"Hey, Xander! Is your apartment all homey yet or are you still in the disaster phase?"

The sound of Willow's voice made Xander grin, but he lost the expression nearly before it could reach his lips as he saw Spike stiffen out of the corner of his eye. The vampire's lips lost their slight smile, and he rose swiftly to his feet.

Without a word, Spike placed his bottle on the counter and grabbed his coat.

"Wait, you don't have to...," Xander said, but Spike was already over the couch in a fluid leap and out the door.

"I'm sorry, Xander, am I interrupting? Do you have someone there?" Willow asked.

"No, I..."

"Do you have friends helping? Or maybe someone special? It is someone special? I can call back tomorrow. Or next week? Do you want me to call back next week?"

"It's okay. He left. There's no one here now."

"But there *was* someone there?" Willow asked. He could hear her smiling and knew that she'd be poking him in the arm if she were there.

"Yeah, but..."

"I knew that Boston would be a good place for you to meet people. Is he cute?"

"Willow! It was..." *Spike? A friend?* He couldn't say either. Xander let out a disappointed sigh. "No one. It was no one."


	6. Chapter 6

It had been an unquestionably bad idea for Spike to go to Xander's apartment. Spike had been fairly certain of that fact when he had offered to help Xander's secretary with her problem, but the restaurant was slow in the middle of a rainy weekday afternoon, and the idea of wandering the streets of Boston in the daytime had been too appealing to ignore. Besides, despite his better judgment, he was curious.

So he had gone, and he had been sure that he would be able to get in and out in a matter of minutes. The papers would be signed, his mild curiosity about Xander's life would be assuaged, and he could go back to his job and his professional persona. It would be just a quick decent into madness.

It had been anything but; the madness was still upon him a week later, and he couldn’t quite seem to put his experience behind him.

Amazingly enough, he and Xander had had an almost pleasant conversation, and Spike had actually enjoyed the banter without the hidden barbs that had been so prevalent in the past. He had relaxed enough that he had nearly been comfortable… at least before he had heard Willow's voice on Xander's phone. It had been far too easy to let his guard down in the anonymous apartment well away from California, but hearing Willow had reminded him sharply of everything that Xander was still tied to, everything that Spike had firmly put behind him.

In a way, Spike was glad of the reminder, because it was a warning for him to be more on his guard before he had gone too far. As easy as Xander might be to talk to, there was no way that Spike could spend any time with him and not get involved with the Scoobies again. Having a casual beer was too much contact; they couldn't be more than business associates. He had to remember.

The problem was that he was remembering too much. He couldn't forget how nice it felt just to spend some time with a friend, drinking beer and taking cracks at the delivery guys. He couldn't forget how readily Xander had treated him as an equal. He couldn't forget how toned and tempting that slice of Xander's stomach had looked while he had wiped his face with his form-fitting shirt. And if Xander was actually attracted to men, then that enticing piece of golden skin wasn't necessarily off limits.

Except of course it was, because it was a part of Xander's body, which housed Xander's mind, which was attached to Xander's friends. The body was definitely appealing, the mind was at times amusing, but the friends were an absolute deal-breaker.

The shock of finding himself even somewhat at ease with someone was hard for Spike to overcome; he couldn’t recall when he was last that comfortable. He hadn’t felt threatened, he hadn’t felt pressured, he hadn’t felt out of control, and he also for once hadn’t felt lonely. It had been years since he hadn’t been lonely, probably since before Dru had gotten so sick. It was that feeling of companionship without obligation - as casual as it had been - that he was having trouble shaking off.

The thought of having a friend, as unlikely as friendship would be with a Scooby, was too tempting to be safe, and Spike ruthlessly sank himself into his job. There was always something to do at the restaurant, and he was usually able to find some demons causing trouble after Cold Comfort closed each night. Boston's demon community was old and generally quite peaceful, but he gleefully dusted vamps by moonlight in Harvard Yard and threw the corpses of the demons he killed on Boston Common into the Public Garden Lagoon. As he was trying to be a constructive member of the community, he made certain that he dumped the corpses well away from the Swan Boats.

Spike also kept up his campaign of avoidance; he even ordered his employees to alert him if Xander came in. On Friday night, when Anne called back to let him know that Xander and Cassie had arrived to have dinner, Spike closed himself in his office to avoid temptation. He had suffered years of torment with Angelus and Darla and had never given in, but he knew that his willpower wasn't great enough to stand up to kindness. It was best to stay away entirely.

 _Not hiding. Just keeping myself out of danger._ Spike snorted at the thought. _Don't remember the last time that danger came in the form of anything as weak as a twenty-something man with one eye, no magic, and only marginal fighting skills._ He leaned back in his chair and smoothed his hands through his hair. _This is a whole new sort of battle, mate. Trying to keep my sanity intact, not my skin._

Some hours after Xander had come in, Spike ventured out to the bar. He looked around and saw Xander's assistant sitting alone at her cleared table. She was pulling out her credit card and slipping it in the leather folder that held the check. Xander was nowhere to be seen.

"Has he gone?" Spike asked Anne.

"He got his coat and headed outside five minutes ago," she replied. "I was about to come back and tell you."

"Ta." He took a deep breath and released some of his tension as he exhaled.

"You know, boss, when you asked me to keep an eye out for him I expected it was because you wanted to see him, not to avoid him." Spike gave her a quelling look, but the reason that Anne was such a good assistant manager was that she was never daunted by anything or anyone, including him. She grinned and continued. "Chris said that you two knew each other. You seemed kind of friendly. Now you're hiding in your office whenever he's around. What gives?"

When Spike gave her his best glower, she just laughed.

"Chris thinks you owe the guy money. He says that he must've lost the eye in a fight and that he's really tough behind the nice-guy act. _I_ think that he's an old friend who reminds you of times that you want to forget... which would be like _all_ of them, since you never talk about your past."

"And I think that you lot need to work more and talk less," Spike said.

"And I think that we're underpaid as it is and should walk out until we get a raise and some answers."

"You get paid better than at any other restaurant of this size in town."

"Doesn't mean I don't want a new car." Anne grinned.

"Is that the bill for forty-six?" Spike asked as Becca, the server for that section, swiped a credit card through the machine.

"Yep."

"I'll take it back to her," Spike said and reached over the counter for the folder and the slip.

"Thanks," Becca said. "Fifty-two's being a nightmare."

"Want me to stop by?" Anne asked.

"Nah. Jason's on it. They just want extra everything, including all of my time." Becca rolled her eyes and stepped out from behind the bar.

As Spike began to turn away, Anne laid a hand on his arm.

"So who was right? Me or Chris?" she asked.

"Both of you," Spike replied with a cocky smirk designed to disguise that he was actually telling a bit of the truth.

Cassie smiled as soon as she saw him walking toward her; they had met two or three times so far to plan the Hallowe'en event and had developed an instant camaraderie. Spike was a bit surprised that Xander had selected her, since she was at least in her forties, married, moderately plump, and comely but probably never pretty. She was definitely intelligent and efficient, but most young men would have chosen looks over aptitude; perhaps Xander really had lost his taste for women. Or maybe his remaining eye wasn't that good.

"The boss stuck you with the bill, eh?" Spike asked, placing the folder in front of her and sliding into the chair to her right.

"It was a business meeting, so it was a business expense," she said, signing the slip and tucking her copy and her card into her wallet. "I just got a corporate card, so he let me use it. Of course, he didn't tell me 'til afterwards that the company was paying, so I didn't order the lobster."

They both grinned.

"Next time," Spike said. "And don't forget dessert, too."

"And maybe an appetizer. I'd love to try the crab cakes."

"Next time you're here I'll send some over. On the house, unless the company's paying."

Cassie blushed and smiled.

"Thank you. You're too kind."

"What's the point of having a restaurant if I can't use my power to flirt with the ladies?" Spike asked.

"I can see why Cold Comfort is so popular, then. You must have women throwing themselves at you."

"If I do, I haven't caught any yet. Maybe I'm waiting for the right person." He gave her his most enticing smile, which got him a wide grin in return.

"Or maybe you need to pay more attention to your game. You always seem to be busy. Do you even have time for a relationship?"

Spike raised an eyebrow.

"You'd ask me that question when you've been out to dinner with your boss instead of spending Friday night with your husband? Or maybe there's something going on with you two..."

Cassie laughed.

"I won't even dignify that suggestion with a response," she said. "But, as you have reminded me, I should get home."

"Would you like us to call you a cab? It's getting late."

"No, thank you. I only live a couple of blocks away, and Xander has offered to walk me home. He's out making a quick call before we go."

Ice formed in the pit of Spike's stomach. Xander was still there.

With his mouth frozen in what he hoped was a friendly smile, Spike rose to his feet.

"I'll just let you -"

"Hey, Cassie, is this guy bothering you?" Xander said jovially from behind Spike's shoulder.

"He was just offering to get me a cab. Would that be easier for you?" Cassie asked.

"Nope. You're on my way home."

"Great. Let me just powder my nose, as it were, and I'll be ready to go." Cassie smiled at them both and walked toward the rear of the restaurant.

"How's it going?" Xander asked as Spike turned to face him.

Spike shrugged. "Business is doing well."

"I meant with you," Xander said more seriously. His dark hair was rumpled and the sleeves of his blue dress shirt were rolled up his forearms, making him look every inch like the young businessman he was. If he also looked damned gorgeous, Spike made sure not to notice.

"I'm fine."

"You didn't seem fine when you ran out of my apartment the other week."

"Bollocks! I didn't run, I..." Spike collected himself and continued more calmly. "I had what I had come for; I simply left you to your phone call. It's called being polite. You might try it."

"You knew it was Willow on the phone."

"So? Did you think to put me on and scare her half to death?"

"I'm sure she'd be thrilled to hear from you," said Xander.

The thought sent chills down Spike's spine.

"You gave me your word. If you're going to go back on it, you'd best tell me now," Spike said with a hint of a growl.

Xander paled slightly and shook his head.

"No, no. But if you ever want I could -"

"No."

"But -"

"So you're going to walk Cassie home?" Spike asked blandly.

"Yeah. She lives about five blocks from me, and I didn't want her wandering around the city at night."

"But you reckon you're safe?"

"I haven't seen a single vampire besides you the entire time I've been in Boston," Xander said.

"Just 'cause you don't see them doesn't mean they're not there. Boston's an old city; there are plenty of demons here. A few of 'em probably came over on the Mayflower."

"Yeah, I've actually been meaning to ask you about -"

"Are you even carrying a stake?" Spike asked.

Xander shook his head, and Spike rolled his eyes.

"Did the preacher remove some of your brains when he got your eye?"

"This isn't Sunnydale, Spike."

"That doesn't mean there aren't beasties out there."

"You'd know," Xander said.

"Yes, I would. You're going to walk Cassie home and then go wandering around the streets in the middle of the night? If a demon doesn't get you, a mugger might. Are you completely daft?"

"Come on, Spike. We're in a safe part of town, and I'm not exactly a small guy."

"No, but you're well dressed, have an obvious handicap, and are wearing a cell phone on your belt that's probably worth more than a week's pay even in this part of the city."

Xander looked unconvinced.

"Only if you average in the incomes of all of the starving college students. Not that I don't appreciate the concern, but -"

"Concern, my ass. It's common sense. We'll call you both a cab," Spike said.

"I'm not taking a cab."

"You know I can force you into it."

"With the cab driver, Cassie, and the entire restaurant watching?" Xander crossed his arms over his chest and grinned.

"Fine. Then I'll walk you both home."

The smug grin disappeared.

"That's stupid. You don't have to -"

"If you won't take a taxi, I'll walk with you, and you can't bloody well stop me."

That seemed to be that. Xander wasn't happy about the situation, but he stopped arguing when Cassie returned.

"It's a nice night, and I could use a break," Spike said after he explained that he was joining them.

"I'm sure I could find something to break," Xander muttered under his breath. Spike ignored him.

As they walked Spike and Cassie carried on an innocuous conversation about the latest exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts while Xander sulked behind them, and then both men were silent as they walked from her apartment to Xander's. The streets were largely empty as they got further away from Harvard Square, and Spike kept alert to the noises in the shadows. There were a couple of suspicious smells and sounds, but no one bothered the two of them as they stalked through the streets.

"Do you need to walk me to my door or do you trust me to get up the stairs by myself?" Xander asked sourly when they reached the steps of the brick building that housed his apartment.

"I expect that even you can manage the..." Spike trailed off as he noticed that the front door was ajar. "Isn't that supposed to be locked?"

"One of my neighbors probably forgot to close it. It happens all the time."

"I'm going up with you."

"It was just one of my neighbors…"

"Then it'll only take two minutes. The more you complain the longer I'll be here."

Xander glared at Spike for a long moment and then led the way inside.

 _Get him inside safely and then leave_ , Spike reminded himself as he followed Xander through the door.


	7. Chapter 7

Spike watched from the hallway as Xander stomped into his apartment and threw his keys on the small table by the door. They skidded across the slick surface and fell to the floor with a clatter. Xander flinched but didn't pause as shrugged off his coat and threw it over the arm of the couch.

"See? Nothing sinister here besides you," Xander said. "Though that cat in the stairwell could have been a serious threat if you weren't with me."

It's not like it wasn't obvious to Spike that Xander was annoyed; he was upset about being treated like he was vulnerable, but he _was_ vulnerable. That shriek of pain at Caleb's hands _still_ rang in Spike's ears, and despite Xander's best efforts at ignoring life's dangers Spike would never forget that Xander was human and that humans could be easily harmed.

That was part of the reason he didn't want anything to do with them.

"Doesn't hurt to be careful." He leaned slightly inside and looked around. The chaos of the move was gone, and the living room was basic and fairly bland. There were no homey touches, which was surprising, but at least there were no photographs. Spike wasn't sure he could handle photographs. "I see you got tired of the - what did you call it? - tornado-chic."

"Yeah. It was too hard to find anything. I've settled for urban contemporary, also known as whatever wasn't too ugly in my price range," Xander said. He ran his hand along the back of the couch and toyed with the edges of the cushions.

"Right, then. I'm off," Spike said.

"Do you want to see the furniture now that it's in place?" Xander asked, looking up. "I mean, you did help lug it in here."

"Moving the couch out from in front of the door is an improvement." Spike took a step inside. _Just a quick look around. Then I'll go_ , he told himself. _Just being polite. God, I'm such a wanker._

"I thought pointing it at the television was a good idea. And, you know, actually having a television," Xander said.

Spike's attention was caught by the wide-screen TV that took up much of one of the narrow walls, and he wandered over to look at it more closely.

"Is your sight going?" Spike asked with a smirk. "You're too vain to want glasses so you need a telly the size of a cinema screen?"

Spike's brain caught up with his mouth, and he winced.

"I'll have you know my eyesight's twenty-twenty. Or should that be ten-ten? Anyway, you're just jealous," Xander replied, seemingly unfazed. Spike relaxed slightly.

Xander began to sort through a pile of mail on the kitchen counter. "Oh, hey, I've got something that'll interest you."

"That right?" Spike asked. He had picked up the sleek black remote and was running his thumb over the dozens of rubbery buttons as he stared longingly at the television. _Oh, yeah. Maybe I'll get one of these. Not that there's much room for it, but who needs a bed when you've got this baby?_

"Come and see." Xander slid a blue envelope out of the pile and held it out.

"What's this?" Spike asked, setting the remote back on the coffee table. He reached out his hand to take the envelope and then snatched it back as his eyes focused on the familiar looping handwriting. His stomach lurched, and his ears started to ring. "No."

"It's from Dawn."

"I bloody well know who it's from," Spike said. He backed away as Xander walked forward with the letter.

"She sent me a picture of her outside of her dorm. Don't you want to see?"

"No." Spike kept backing up. _No no no no nononononononono._

Perplexed, Xander stopped advancing and dropped his arm down to his side. "Why not? I mean, you always really seemed to care about her."

"My feelings are no fucking business of yours," Spike snapped. _Not having this conversation. Got to get out of here. Now._ But Xander was now between him and the door, and he really didn't want to have to push him out of the way. Humans were too easily broken, and he wasn't sure he could be gentle.

"Come on, Spike. I know you're soft-hearted beneath all that leather," Xander said with a grin. "It won't be a surprise to me that you love Dawn. You don't have to pretend you don't."

"Bugger off, Harris. You don't know a damn thing."

Spike watched Xander think, and he tried to edge toward the door. Seemingly without noticing, Xander shifted to stay in his way.

"If you want, you can take it home and look at it there. You can take the letter, too," he said, holding out the envelope again. "She's studying -"

"I don't give a fuck about the letter or the picture." He turned away to glare at the blank black screen of the television. _See? I don't care. Let me the fuck out of this bloody apartment!_

"Spike, don't be -"

Spike whirled on him and could smell Xander's sudden panic.

 _Panic_ and _arousal. Now isn't that interesting?_

"Sod off!" Spike growled, shaking off that unwelcome train of thought. "I told you before; I've put you lot behind me. I've got a long future ahead of me, and none of you is in it. The past is the past. It's done. I don't care. I don't want to know what's going on with any of you. So just leave me the fuck alone!"

Xander's eye narrowed with growing anger, and he threw the envelope onto the table. It slid and joined the keys on the floor, and Spike clenched his hands into fists to keep from picking them up.

"Fine," Xander said. "It's your life or whatever. I get it. But if you want nothing to do with me, then why the fuck are you here in my apartment? Why not just ignore me? Why did you bother to walk me home if you don't care if I get killed? If it's the guilt in your soul for whatever you've done in your past, I've got to say just get over it. There's no point in being here if you're that unhappy about it."

It was a fair question, and Spike had no fucking clue how to answer it. Why _was_ he spending any time with Xander? They couldn't be friends, not with the Scoobies in the picture, and they didn't share anything but a past Spike wanted to forget. Yet he couldn't just stand by and watch Xander put himself in danger. Maybe it was the damn soul, but he just wasn't callous enough for that sort of behavior, not anymore.

It was just basic kindness. It wasn't that he cared at all about the man. He couldn't care for him. He couldn't matter. It would all just end in misery, and he couldn't do it. He couldn't.

 _I've got to fucking get out of here!_ Spike thought. His mind raced, and he felt nearly as panicked as he had when he was trapped back in the Initiative. What could he do to change the subject? What could he do to get Xander away from the door?

 _Panic and arousal. Just play on your strengths, mate. You've done it enough over the years. Just a little saunter and a sexy grin. That'll take his mind off of everything._

"What do you _think_ I want from you?" Spike asked huskily. He prowled forward and drew in close even as Xander took a step back.

Xander swallowed nervously, his pupils dilating. Blood rushed to his cheeks, turning them bright red.

"I... I... I don't know," Xander stammered. "I... I... I..."

Spike grabbed Xander's upper arms and held him steady, ready to distract him and then swing him away from the door.

"What are you -" Xander began.

The sentence was cut off as Spike pressed his mouth to Xander's and claimed it in a harsh kiss. There was nothing soft about it; after Xander overcame his initial surprise, they devoured each other. Teeth nipped at lips, tongues thrust and tangled, and hands twisted in hair. When Spike pressed his body against Xander's, they both moaned deep in their throats, but at the sound Xander jerked away and stumbled backwards.

Spike panted for air that he didn't need, the taste of Xander still in his mouth and the heat from his body still warming his skin. Xander stood and gaped at him.

 _Bloody hell. Maybe I'll stay just a little while longer. There's more than one way to change the subject._

*

Xander struggled to get his brain working. He had been angry, and they had been arguing, and then they had been kissing, and he couldn't remember how they connected the dots.

From a few feet away, Spike watched him intently but expressionlessly, the ragged rise and fall of his chest and the disarray of his hair the only indications of their previous activity.

"What the hell was that?" Xander asked.

"It was a kiss. Don't tell me you don't know; I've seen you do as much before."

"But you just finished telling me how much you don't care, so why the hell did you kiss me?"

"What does caring have to do with it?" Spike asked. "I wanted you, and I kissed you."

"But..."

"I know you're hardly disinterested," Spike said. "I can smell it, and I could feel it. I've seen your gaze on me, and I've felt your lips on mine. Can you honestly say you don't want me?"

The thought never crossed Xander's mind. Not want Spike? He had never even considered that it was an option to _have_ Spike, but of course he wanted him. Even way before he had known that he was gay he had wanted him, and hadn't that caused him countless uncomfortable nights? The vampire oozed sexuality. How could anyone not want him?

"But you're not..."

"This is simple, Xander. Do you want me? No emotions. No promises. No commitment. Just us. Now. Yes or no?"

Xander took a deep breath and looked at the vampire standing a few feet away. Spike was undeniably gorgeous, and he was unquestionably sexy. Seeing him if he were a stranger would have turned Xander on, but _Spike_ , with his quirky sense of humor, his snapping blue eyes, and his deep soulful self hidden beneath the layers of leather and snark, was hot beyond description. Did Xander understand this new Spike? No. Did he want to? More than anything. Did he want him? How could Spike even need to ask? What was there to think about?

"Yes," Xander said. A tingle in the back of his mind warned him that he had made the wrong choice, but his brain wasn't functioning well enough to explain why. He'd probably kick himself later, but now... now...

For a moment, Spike didn't move, but his eyes darkened with desire. Xander felt arousal coiling in his gut, and his hands began to tingle in anticipation of touching Spike again. Xander stepped forward and met him halfway.

 _Fuck, yeah_ , Xander thought and shut away the dissenting voice entirely.

Their kisses were wild from the start, all tongues and teeth. Jaws aching from the tension, they drank each other as their hands roamed. Spike's back was surprisingly slight beneath Xander's touch, but the lean bands of muscle were hard and powerful. They rippled as Spike slid in Xander's grasp and dragged his lips along the column of his neck.

Xander groaned at the sensation of smooth teeth skating along his skin, and he pushed Spike's coat off of his shoulders before tugging at his t-shirt. Spike's hands were busy, too, one under Xander's waistband at the small of his back and the other tangling in his hair.

"God, Spike," Xander hissed as the vampire's tongue traced along his jugular, and the reality of the situation flooded him. This was Spike. He was touching _Spike_. Those were Spike lips he was kissing, and that was Spike's body he was maneuvering against the wall.

In his more lucid moments, Xander could admit that he wanted Spike to be around and that he wanted Spike to be happy. At that very minute, however, all he desperately wanted was _him_.

Spike's breathy moan as Xander's hands slid under his shirt went straight to Xander's groin. He pressed in, trapping Spike against the wall and sliding a hand into his hair to force his head to just the right position. Then he devoured his mouth as he ground against him, sloppy kisses muffling grunts of pleasure. Spike fought for dominance, but Xander managed to keep control, biting his way down Spike's neck and clamping down even harder in response to the needy noises escaping from the vampire's mouth.

"Fuck!" Spike whispered hoarsely as he tilted his head further back and writhed beneath the onslaught. His hands fumbled at Xander's belt, and Xander moved away slightly to allow him access.

It took Spike two tries to unfasten Xander's chinos and slide them and his boxers down his hips. Both men groaned as Spike explored the newly-exposed skin. Xander quickly attacked Spike's fly, and they came together in a searing kiss as their hands roved over straining flesh.

Steadying them both by wrapping his free hand around Spike's slender hip, Xander began to stroke Spike's erection. The vampire shuddered and returned the favor by sliding his fingers up Xander's shaft and shifting to grip it tightly. They pressed their bodies together as much as possible as they found their rhythm, panting and moaning with pleasure.

When Xander started to nibble down Spike's neck again, the vampire gasped, and his movements faltered. Licking his way along the sharp line of Spike's jaw, Xander gathered both of their erections in his hand. The smooth slide of skin and pre-come nearly finished him off, and he was glad for the steadying grip of Spike's hand coming to rest over his. Spike pulled him closer with pressure at the small of his back, and they watched themselves bring each other off.

Pleasure rolled over Xander in waves, and when he met Spike's eyes he could see the heavy arousal coursing through the vampire's body. That beautiful face, slack with need and so close to his, was the final straw. He felt his release spiral through his gut and explode outward in a fiery burst. His entirely body pulsing with his orgasm, he fell against Spike as an answering rush of cooler semen gushed over their linked hands.

Heads tucked into each other's necks, they rocked together, gasping and sated, until their tremors subsided.

"Fuck," Xander said breathlessly. He rolled his forehead against Spike's shoulder.

"Yeah." Spike's voice was low.

Xander lifted his head and nuzzled into the vampire's damp hair. It was Spike. He was draped against Spike. He couldn't help but smile.

"So, want to see the bedroom?" he asked with a laugh.

Spike stilled.

"Got to be off. There's work to be done," Spike said. He began to disentangle himself from Xander and looked unhappily at his semen-covered hand. Using his other hand to close his jeans, he walked into the kitchen and turned on the sink.

"Spike...," Xander said, fastening his own pants and watching him from across the counter.

"It was nice, Harris. Worked like a charm."

Spike dried his hands on the dishtowel and sauntered back into the living room to pick up his stupid short leather coat from the floor.

"You're just going to leave?"

"I've got things to do," Spike said.

"But -"

"Don't make this more than it is," he said and walked out of the apartment without a backward glance.

Xander leaned heavily against the counter and ran his non-sticky hand over his face.

 _Back in Sunnydale, we couldn't get the guy to leave, but now I can't get him to stay_ , Xander thought, the surge of pleasure at his orgasm overwhelmed by the bitter swell of disappointment in his heart. _Why do I get the feeling I don't know this Spike at all?_


	8. Chapter 8

Xander was still in bed at eleven o'clock the next morning, though he had been awake for some time. He lay on his back, hands behind his head, watching the shadows slowly drift across his ceiling. He wasn't brooding, and he wasn't thinking about the previous night. Instead, he was very deliberately not doing either.

He had learned to make his mind a blank back when Sunnydale was destroyed. They had spent weeks making frantic plans for the immediate future, dealing with necessities, caring for the wounded, and mourning the dead. Sometimes the pressure had gotten to be too much, and he had had to find a way to let it all go, if only for a little while. With all of them piled into Angel's creepy hotel, there was no real privacy for screaming or crying or even for building something, so he had learned to escape into his mind. It wasn't meditation, exactly; it was just a way to block out everything and simply to drift away.

As life had gotten more settled and the survivors had found new homes and jobs, Xander's need to block things out had dwindled. He no longer needed the crutch. Yet, he had fallen back on it that morning, and it annoyed him. He had had sort of sex with an incredibly hot guy who had been responsive and straightforward and didn't stay around to hog the covers or to use up all the hot water in the morning. Xander knew that most guys would have been thrilled, but, instead, he was brooding. Or not, because he was carefully not thinking about anything. Especially not Spike. Especially not why he was dissatisfied with what had happened with Spike.

The ringing phone broke him out of his not-brooding, and Xander rolled over to pick it up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Xander!" At the sound of Willow's voice, Xander flopped back against his pillows and shifted around until he was comfortable again. "Did I wake you?"

"Nope. How's life in jolly old England?"

"Wet, cold, full of teenage superheroes, and freakily peaceful. I expect an apocalypse any second. How are you?"

"Oh, fine. The building's still on schedule, the bosses are pleased, and we've got a bunch of people flying in next week to see our work. We're due for an apocalypse, too. Probably Wednesday."

"That's the day of the party, right?"

"Yep." Party. _Work_ party. At Spike's restaurant. Not thinking about Spike. Not thinking about last night with Spike.

Xander sighed before he could stop himself.

"Is something wrong? Are the plans not going well?"

"Oh, no. Everything's fine. Cassie has it all under control." He tried to inject real enthusiasm into his voice.

"Xander..."

"It's _fine_ , Will," he said. If he listened hard enough, he could hear her thinking about how to pry it out of him.

"Okay." She sounded unconvinced. "So, have you met any cute guys lately?"

"Is sex all you can think about?"

"I do sleep with twenty underage girls," she said, laughing.

"You know, if you put up pictures on the internet you could probably fund the Council for a year."

"Do you think they'd like the 'falling asleep while brushing our teeth at night because we're so tired' pictures or the ones where our hair is standing up on end in the mornings?"

"I'm pretty sure they won't be looking at your hair," Xander said, grinning.

"Men are so predictable."

"We can be. So how's the new dorm coming along?"

"It's nearly done, thank the goddess. Did I tell you we're naming it Revello?" Willow asked.

Xander smiled wistfully.

"No. That's great. It was a home to all of us... at the end literally. I don't even want to think about how many fire codes we were breaking. What do Buffy and Dawn think?"

"She got all teary when Giles told her. Dawn was more mature and just squealed and jumped up and down."

"When can the girls move in?"

"If there isn't _another_ delay, about a month," Willow said. "Twenty-six and a half days. Not that I'm counting."

"You must be relieved that you'll get the house back to yourself."

"You have no idea! The past two months have been giving me flashbacks with so many of us crammed in here. At least we have more than one bathroom. But soon it'll be just me and Giles. I can't wait for it to be quiet again."

"How's Giles holding up under the teenage siege?"

"He's being very British about it. Lots of tea, disapproving sniffs, and frantic cleaning of glasses when he sees something he doesn't want to. There has even been a 'good lord' now and then."

"So he's loving every minute of it?" Xander grinned.

"Oh yeah," Willow said. "He won't admit it, but I think he likes being the man of the house. He'll miss them when they move next door."

"I still can't believe you're putting Andrew in charge of the dorm."

"He's very responsible, and he's turned into a great cook."

"But he's _Andrew_."

"They'll only be next door. How much trouble can they get into?"

"Do you remember how he redecorated my kitchen to look like a salsa bar because I mentioned that I like tacos?" Xander asked. "You should, because you helped me repaint it. Remember the four coats of white it took to cover the huge chili pepper on the wall? Remember how we had to patch the ceiling because he used super glue to attach the sombreros to the plaster?"

"It was cute," Willow said.

"It was a rental property!"

"Well, we own Revello, so he can do whatever he wants with it."

"That's what I'm worried about. At least I'm thousands of miles away so I won't be the first person you call when you need to fix something," Xander said. He paused for a second. "Probably."

"You know we don't think of you as Carpenter Guy, Xander," Willow said. "You do know that, right?"

"I do. Sorry. I guess I'm grumpy today. I didn't sleep well."

"Big night last night, Mr. Casanova?"

"Oh yeah. I had dinner with Cassie."

"And?"

"And what? I walked her home. Gave her a big smooch on her front porch right in front of her husband. He gave it a 9.4 but said we should have used more tongue."

"I'm willing to bet that the night was still young. You're telling me that hot, single-guy you didn't go out on the town and find some other hot single guy for some smoochies with potential?"

Xander's mind raced. He wasn't willing to lie to Willow, but he couldn't tell her what happened last night. He wasn't even sure himself.

"I didn't go out on the town," he said carefully.

"Aha! So there _were_ smoochies!"

"Willow -"

"Don't lie to me, mister. I can tell from here that you're fidgeting." Xander stopped toying with the edge of the blanket. "There were smoochies. Tell me all about it. Is he nice? Is he cute? What's his name? When are you seeing him again?"

"Willow -"

"Just because we aren't in the same town doesn't mean I'm not prepared to deliver the shovel talk."

"You won't need the shovel talk."

"Oh, he may seem perfect now, but a good threat will help to keep him in line."

"You won't need the talk because there's no relationship," Xander said firmly.

Willow paused, and she was overly cheerful when she spoke again.

"Well, that's okay. Nothing wrong with that, as long as you were safe. You were safe, right?"

"I don't take any chances, Will."

"Good. Because if you do I have a whole different shovel talk prepared for you."

"I'll be careful. I promise. No speech needed," Xander said.

"I'm going to hold you to it. So you had some relationshipless smoochies with a guy last night, but you don't sound happy about it. What was wrong? Did he have halitosis?"

Xander rubbed his hand over his face and let out a heavy breath.

"No halitosis. There's not much to tell. We got together, stuff happened, he left. That's it."

"Oh, the old love 'em and leave 'em. Welcome to the world of dating men. Why did you think I switched sides?"

"I'm beginning to think you had the right idea."

"Did you really like him?" Willow asked.

"I should have known better, that's all. He was really up-front with what he wanted -"

"I bet he was."

"He was really straightforward -"

Willow giggled, and Xander tried again.

"He was really _honest_ about what he wanted," Xander continued, "but I guess I was hoping for more. I thought we had a connection - god, that sounds stupid - but I was seeing something that wasn't really there."

"So he wasn't the one. Don't worry about it. You'll find your guy."

"I don't know. Maybe."

"You're young, Xander. You don't have to settle down yet."

"I know." He stared blankly at the ceiling.

"But you want to."

"Sometimes. I don't know. I feel like I'm doing something wrong by wanting to be in a long-term relationship. I mean, what's the hurry, right? I rushed into things with Anya before I was ready, and I sure screwed that up. And what's wrong with having fun? I've got to focus on my career, and I sure don't want to have a bi-coastal relationship when I leave Boston. Maybe I'm just taking things too seriously."

"That's the spirit. Sow some wild oats, gather ye rosebuds, uh... take the road less traveled..."

Xander laughed and switched the phone to his other ear.

"You're trying too hard, Will."

"Sorry. I just want to be supportive."

"You are. I'm just not sure what I'm doing. As usual."

"And you'll figure it out. As usual. Just don't push yourself too hard, Xander. All you do is work, especially now that you're there. You need to relax."

"Yeah. Probably."

"Definitely. What are your plans for the day?"

"Besides staring at the ceiling? Not much. I don't even have any work to do."

"A day without work? I've heard of such a thing but can't remember ever having one."

Xander shifted onto his side and pulled the blankets further up his chest. "Then let me distract you. Tell me everything about what's going on with you. No detail is too small," he said and settled in for a long talk.

*

By the time Xander returned to work on Monday he was feeling better about the whole Spike thing. They had enjoyed themselves, and it was over. Spike had been very clear about what he had wanted from Xander, and he had gotten it. There was nothing else to think about.

At least Xander now understood why Buffy and Anya were so drawn to Spike even though he was evil and could be such an ass. Boy, did he know.

So when Cassie told him that they had a meeting at Cold Comfort that morning to sign off on the final plans for Wednesday's Hallowe'en party, Xander wasn't bothered at all. He was a professional, and it's not like anything else was going to happen. Besides, the meeting was at ten-thirty, and Spike would be sleeping.

Anne led them to a table in the back when they arrived, and Xander didn't even glance around the restaurant to look for Spike. He was calm, he was cool, he was unworried, and he repeated that mantra silently to himself as he followed his companions.

"Let me get the paperwork. Do you want anything to drink?" Anne asked.

"No, thanks," said Xander. He shrugged off his coat.

"Some water would be nice," Cassie said.

"Okay. I'll be right back."

By the time that Cassie had pulled her notebook and pens out of her briefcase, Anne had returned with a glass of water and a manila folder.

"Do you have a final count for me?" she asked as she sat.

"One hundred twenty-six for the buffet plus two special dinners," said Cassie.

"One nut-free and one vegan, right?" Anne asked, flipping open the folder and checking her notes.

"That's right. I'll be sure to point them out to you when we arrive."

"Great. Thanks. They'll be in costume?"

"It's not mandatory," said Xander, "but most everyone will be."

"In this case it'll actually help us. Telling my servers to watch out for Cinderella and the lumberjack is easier than saying the blond guy in the blue suit and hoping that they guess right," said Anne.

"See?" Cassie said to Xander. "I told you that the costumes were a good idea."

Xander groaned.

"It's a conspiracy," he said. "You're in cahoots with the people at the main office, and now you've gotten to Anne, too."

"I'm a corporate spy," Cassie told Anne, grinning. "It's shameful all the things I have to report back about Xander."

"And she won't even let me bribe her," Xander said.

"I feel for you," Anne said. She turned her attention back to her notes. "Now, are there any changes to the menu?"

"That's all set," said Cassie. "We decided on three serving stations plus passed hors d'oeuvres and a dessert table, right?"

"Yep," Anne said. "And the bar is fully open?"

"That's what the boss wants," Xander said.

"Okay, then. I think we're all set," said Anne. "I'll just need your signature in a couple of places, Xander, and we're good to go." She pulled out two sheets of paper and slid them across the table. "I'll give you a minute to check over everything before you sign it. I'll be back in a sec."

Xander and Cassie double-checked the information, and then Xander signed in the marked spaces. Cassie pulled a company check out of her briefcase and placed it on top of the papers.

"Thanks for handling this," Xander said as they waited for Anne to return. "You've been great."

"It's my pleasure," Cassie replied with a smile.

"Anne! What the bloody hell are you doing out here? The beer supplier's here, and he's got the wrong..." Spike trailed off as he stormed around the corner and didn't find his assistant manager at the table. He blinked at them for a moment. "Oh. Sorry."

"Anne will be right back," Cassie said.

"Right then. Would you send her to see me when she's done here?" he asked. He didn't acknowledge Xander with more than a brief flicker of his eyes.

Xander fidgeted with the papers but refused to be cowed. He scrambled to think of something nonchalant to say other than some comment on Spike's sleeping habits, but he was saved by Anne's arrival.

"I'm here. What's up?" Anne asked.

"The beer supplier's brought the wrong IPA again, and I swear I'm going to rip his head clean off his shoulders if I have to listen to his excuses one more time."

Xander wondered if the threat was serious or just some of Spike's colorful hyperbole. He really had no idea.

"I'll get Jason to take care of it," Anne said.

"Where the hell is Jason, anyway? I've been looking for him all bloody morning," Spike said. He craned his neck to look around the restaurant.

"I think he's in the kitchen, and I'll tell him to see you when he's done. Don't worry about the beer. We've got it under control."

Spike took a breath and nodded. He seemed to deflate slightly as his anger began to dissipate, and he ran a hand through his hair.

"Thanks, luv."

"No sweat. Can you guys stick for a second?" Anne asked Xander and Cassie. "Let me get Jason on the job, and I'll get you your photocopy. It'll just take me a minute."

"No problem," Xander said.

Anne scooped up the signed papers and the check and rushed back into the kitchen.

"Sorry to interrupt," Spike said.

"That's the restaurant business," Cassie said. "There's always some crisis."

"Don't I know it."

"Just like old times," Xander muttered, and Spike glared at him.

"Did you two know each other before you came to Boston?" Cassie asked.

"Not well," Xander said.

"Too well, if you ask me," said Spike, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well, it must be nice to see a familiar face," Cassie said tentatively.

"Yeah," said Xander.

"It's a bloody picnic."

The two men glared at each other until Anne rushed back to the table.

"Here we are," she said breathlessly. She handed the photocopies to Cassie. "You're all set."

"Great. Thank you," said Cassie.

"It's our pleasure," said Anne.

"We'd better get back to the office," said Xander. He pushed back his chair and pulled on his coat.

"I wanted to thank you again for walking me home the other night," Cassie said to Spike as she slid the paperwork into her briefcase. "It was awfully nice of both you and Xander."

"Can't have you getting hurt, now can we?" Spike said. "There are all sorts of things that go grunt in the night."

"I thought the expression was bump," Anne said.

"That too," Spike said, curling his tongue behind his teeth and raising an eyebrow at Xander.

Xander felt the heat rising in his cheeks, but he didn't look away.

"Too bad the biggest excitement of the evening was finding a cat in my stairwell," he said.

"I seem to recall _you_ getting pretty worked up at the time," Spike replied.

"Over a cat?" Anne asked.

"I wasn't the only one," Xander said, his eyes still locked with Spike's.

"Was it big?" Cassie said.

Spike shrugged.

"Wasn't bad," he said.

"I wasn't all that impressed," said Xander. Spike's nostrils flared.

"You bloody were at the time, and you didn't get to see all it could do."

Xander fought back a grin.

"Well, it ran off so quickly..."

"Must've gotten a good look at you," Spike said with a disdainful glance down Xander's body.

"Was it a stray?" Cassie asked.

Xander blinked and broke the staring match.

"What? Oh, I don't know. I have no idea what it was doing there," Xander said. He glanced back at Spike, who was still glaring at him.

"Well, you should be careful. Even the nicest cats can bite," Anne said.

"Biting's not my thing," Xander said.

"Don't knock it 'til you try it," said Spike. "But don't let us keep you from your work."

"Okay. See you on Wednesday," Cassie said.

Xander didn't let himself relax until they were outside and a few yards down the street.

"That went well," Cassie said.

Xander rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. He had seen Spike, and he had held his own.

"Yeah. I'm glad it's over."


	9. Chapter 9

"You're not in costume," Anne said, putting her hands on her hoop-skirted hips and glaring at Spike from the doorway to his office.

"Sod off," he said not altogether unpleasantly.

"But it's Hallowe'en, and you're not in costume."

"It's not a big holiday for me."

"There's a party here tonight. A costume party."

"Right, and I'm not a guest," he said.

"All of the servers are in costume."

Spike gave Anne a critical once-over, surprised to conclude that she didn't look half-bad in the Victorian dress. A picture of a terrified young Buffy dressed in a Georgian gown and heavy wig flashed into his mind, and he shoved it away.

"And who are you? Scarlett bloody O'Hara?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Anne said. She twirled and fluffed her skirts. "I thought it was only fair for the managers to dress up, since the rest of the floor staff had to. Jason's a skeleton."

"Then he should eat more. You should get on that. Right now."

"Very funny. So where's your costume?"

Spike glanced down at his t-shirt and jeans.

"I'm dressed up as an owner of a restaurant who doesn't like fancy dress parties," he said.

"Come on. What about solidarity with your staff?"

"They wouldn't be in costume if they weren't getting paid extra for it. Consider me not dressing up a perk of owning the place."

"You know the guys who're throwing this party are going to be annoyed that you're not in the spirit of things," Anne said.

"Bugger that. I'm going to shake their hands and talk to them for five minutes. Why the hell would they care what I'm wearing?"

"According to Cassie, they're taking this party very seriously." She crossed her arms over her chest and tossed her ringlets out of her eyes.

"You're going to stand there and pester me until I give in or fire you, aren't you?"

"Yep."

"Then you're fired. Get out of my office," Spike said with a wave of his hand.

"No, I'm not," Anne said, smiling pleasantly. "You couldn't run this restaurant without me."

"Let's try."

"You and Xander are such babies."

Xander. A rush of arousal flashed through him as he was momentarily surrounded by the feelsmelltaste of Xander. His blood surged through his body, and his fingers twitched reflexively at the memory of warm flesh.

 _Bloody hell._

Spike forced himself to focus back on Anne.

"Look, I have things to do." He grabbed a piece of scrap paper and wrote down a few items. "Send someone out to get these for me, and I'll put together a bloody costume for you."

"We've got wigs and stuff," Anne said, taking the list. "You don't have to do anything."

"I'm not letting you lot dress me up. Just get me that, and I'll take care of it."

"Great!" Anne grinned and swished out of the room.

Spike leaned his elbows on his desk and buried his face in his hands after his office door closed. It was bad enough that he couldn't get his mind off of the man when he was alone, but to have such a reaction to Xander's name in innocent conversation was untenable.

 _You'd think after well more than a century of life, plus having suffered through those god-awful last months of being unsouled, I'd finally learn that sex changes things and never for the better_ , Spike thought sourly. _Can't leave well enough alone, can I? Oh, no, I decide that as part of my plan not to get in any way involved with Xander 'Scooby for Life' Harris mutual hand-jobs would be a good idea. Not that I even wanted to stop there, not with those lips on mine and all of that skin waiting to be tasted._

He rocked back in his chair and stared at the painting across the room.

 _I am never going to bloody learn. Great plan, Spike. Distract him with kisses. It would have worked, too. I could have gotten out of that apartment while he stood there gaping at me, but I had to stay for a shag. I should really get a bird of my own, some pretty demon to take the edge off. If I hadn't been so horny I wouldn't've been tempted._

But Spike knew that he wouldn't find a girlfriend, demon or otherwise. Since the soul, he couldn't imagine having another Harmony around. Even if she wasn't shallow and stupid, any normal vampire would grate on him. He wouldn't be able to stand by while she killed indiscriminately. And, as aroused as he might be, he didn't see the attraction of most other species of demons for any long period of time.

Humans were right out, too. He'd been with a few since he'd been back, but never for more than a couple of nights. They were too fragile and too unpredictable. Good for a shag and some laughs and maybe a pint of the good stuff if they were willing, but not for more. He was either a freak show to them or he had to hide his nature, neither of which appealed.

It had to be his unsatisfied libido that was making him fixate on Xander. It had been a nice tussle against the wall, but it hadn't been anything near a revelation. So Xander was hot and knew what to do with his hands? It was nothing Spike hadn't had before. He had been stupid to let it go as far as it had, since now there was even more of a mess between them. He was supposed to be staying away from Xander, and instead he had made things more complicated. He just hoped that it was complicated enough that they could avoid each other entirely.

It was obvious that Xander had feelings about their encounter, though Spike wasn't entirely sure what they were. He had seemed happy enough in the apartment, at least until Spike had come to his senses and left, but he had been more confrontational than necessary the other day, which made it clear that he hadn't considered the encounter something simply to enjoy and forget. Since Xander had always been sentimental, Spike wasn't really surprised. He was probably kicking himself, and he'd likely start on Spike next.

But Xander had always hated him; what was one more reason?

 _One of these days, mate, you'll learn to keep your hands to yourself._

*

Applying eyeliner without the use of a mirror was apparently a skill that one didn't forget. Spike smudged on the black pencil, spiked up his hair, and ripped off the sleeves of his t-shirt. He slid on some cheap silver rings and a thick leather bracelet. His boots were fine, and a few tears in the jeans and a slit in the neck of his shirt completed the look. He didn't even wince as he jammed an untwisted paperclip through his earlobe. To the others, he would look like he was in costume as a punk rocker; to him, he was simply wearing comfortable old armor.

He swaggered with remembered confidence when he left his office, and he laughed at the looks of shock on his staff's faces as he swung through the kitchen before wandering out into the dining room.

The party had just started, and people were standing around talking as hors d'oeuvres were passed. Spike stood at the edge of the room and glanced over the milling crowd. Most of the guests were in costume, some of them as simple as sheets wrapped around them like togas, the hotel stamps visible on the hems.

"I didn't know you had it in you, boss," Anne said, coming up to him. She had tied a brimmed hat over her glossy wig, and he was reminded of young ladies of his youth. Of course, they would never have dreamed of wearing red lipstick and staring at a man with such a saucy grin.

"You'd be surprised what I've had in me," he said. "So where are the muckety-mucks? Let's get this over with."

Anne led him over to a cluster of men and women in elaborate costumes and introduced him to Julius Caesar and his wife Cleopatra, Shakespeare, Dolly Parton, an astronaut, and General Patton. Spike made himself as charming as he could, thanking them for choosing his restaurant and ignoring the appreciative glances of both Cleopatra and General Patton. He smiled at Cassie when she joined them but focused his attention on the higher-ups, knowing that they enjoyed being fussed over. He hated this part of the job, but he knew how to do it.

Then he saw Cassie smile and wave, and he glanced over toward the door to see Xander coming in. He was wearing a leather bomber jacket and had a white scarf around his neck, but what was so striking for Spike was the pair of sunglasses Xander was wearing. They were mirrored and wrapped around his face, and he wasn't wearing an eye patch under them.

Spike was overcome by a sudden memory of Xander coming home with Dawn one afternoon that summer Buffy was gone. Spike had stayed at the house during the day for some reason, probably because Willow and Tara were concerned about his well-being and had nagged him to get him out of his crypt, and he had been in the living room when Xander and Dawn had returned from wherever they had been. Both had been laughing, and Xander was showing off his new sunglasses while Dawn offered everyone cherry lollipops from a slippery cellophane bag. At the time, Spike had been focused on Dawn, but now all he could think about was Xander's smile and the way that his eyes had sparkled when Willow had taken the glasses and tried them on herself.

So much had happened since then, so much had been lost, and Spike felt his stomach roil with the unwelcome memories. The sight of Xander, seemingly whole and laughing with someone across the room, made images of the past that he had buried so firmly flash across his eyes.

"Would you excuse me?" he asked and didn't wait for an answer.

Spike didn't venture out into the crowd again. There was a lot to do in the kitchen, and he kept himself busy arranging food on trays with shaking hands.

*

The party was swinging, and Xander breathed a sigh of relief. Mr. Wallace ("No need to stand on ceremony, Harris. Just call me Caesar.") had told him how delighted he was with everything, and the food seemed to be going over well. Everyone was eating, anyway, and it looked like dinner was about to be served.

He pulled Cassie aside when she walked by.

"How's everything going?" he asked quietly.

"People seem happy," she said. "No complaints so far, and the special meals are going to the right people."

"I couldn't have done it without you, Cassie. If I had been in charge we would have ended up with hamburgers and ice cream sundaes at my apartment."

"And no costumes." She grinned at him. "You can't tell me you aren't thrilled to see Rodney dressed up as Cher."

"He weighs three hundred pounds. He could have been Cher _and_ Sonny."

"But you have to admit that he looks great in the wig."

"I'm just glad he didn't go for her outfit from 'If I Could Turn Back Time.'" He shuddered.

"That's a scary thought."

"But you look great," Xander said. "What are you? A medieval princess?"

She smoothed her heavy velvet gown and smiled.

"I was going for Tudor queen. Dave's coming as Henry the Eighth."

"Is he here yet?"

Cassie shook her head.

"Not yet. He should get here in forty-five minutes or so. I hope he doesn't miss dinner."

Xander glanced over to where a gypsy and a devil were setting up one of the buffet tables.

"They'll keep serving, won't they?"

"I'm more worried they'll run out of food with the rate that those appetizers are disappearing," Cassie said.

"You really did a great job," Xander said, and she smiled.

"Thank you."

He squinted to look across the room.

"If we're going to be eating soon, I really should take these off," he said, fidgeting with his sunglasses. "I'd like to be able to see the food on my plate."

"You should go do that. It looks like they're getting ready to serve, so now's a good time to slip away."

"Okay. Be right back."

Xander wandered to the back of the restaurant and ducked into the men's room. Two medieval knights and a very convincing Mick Jagger were inside, and Xander backed out. He really didn't want to be fussing with his patch in front of people, and the thought of doing it in one of the stalls squicked him, as clean as he was sure they were.

He was in luck; Anne was headed past him toward the kitchen, and he caught her attention.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, looking up from the clipboard on which she had been making notes.

"Yeah. The bosses are thrilled. Everything's great. I was just wondering if there's someplace quiet I could use for about two minutes. I want to get rid of these glasses."

"Sure. No problem." She led him down the hall and opened the door to Spike's office.

"I wouldn't want to bother..."

"Johnny Rotten is in the kitchen. Won't even know you're here," Anne said.

"Oh. Great. Thanks." He stepped inside and pulled his eye patch out of his pocket as she pulled the door closed.

He slipped off his glasses and set them on Spike's desk before untangling the knot the cord of the patch always got into if it was left alone for more than thirty seconds.

"Xander's inside," he heard Anne say in the hallway. "He needed someplace out of the way for a minute. Hope you don't mind."

 _Fuck!_

He heard the door creak open and turned his back to it.

"Sorry," he said, his hands fumbling to pull on his eye patch. He snatched his discarded sunglasses from Spike's desk and stuffed them in his pocket. "I didn't want to freak anyone out in the bathroom, and Anne said I could use your office."

"No problem," Spike said, sauntering into the room and over to his desk.

Xander tried not to stare. He had seen Spike briefly across the room earlier, but the costume was even more striking up close. His eyes looked huge and very blue with the dark liner around them, and his posture was confident and undeniably sexy. And those arms, bare to the shoulders and flexing as he fiddled with a pile of papers... Xander blinked and looked at the rug.

"It's just that it's hard for people to talk with me with the sunglasses," he said quickly, "so I wanted to take them off."

"I said no problem." Spike leaned against his desk and raised an eyebrow. "Decided not to go with the pirate look?"

"Too cliché. Besides, I did it a while back, and I don't like to repeat. If I'd known about this," he gestured to his face, "I might've saved it."

"What are you, then? A pilot?"

"Yeah. Not the best costume, I know, but I wanted a bomber jacket. Seemed like a good excuse to buy one," he said sheepishly. "So who are you? Billy Idol?"

Spike rolled his eyes.

"He stole the look from me."

"Yeah, you've mentioned that once or twice. Still not sure I buy it," Xander said. He began to grin and then remembered where he was. "Anyway, thanks for the use of your office."

"No problem," Spike said. Xander turned to go. "Wait."

"What?" Xander watched warily as Spike approached him.

Spike stopped right in front of him, his eyes even more blue with such close proximity. Xander managed to keep still as Spike reached up and carefully untwisted the band of the eye patch. He smoothed Xander's hair over it with the briefest of touches and then stepped back.

"There," Spike said. His eyes flickered over Xander's face as if he was checking every detail. "Wouldn't want you to look any more stupid than usual. You've got to impress the bosses."

Xander got his mind moving again, though it seemed to want to be stuck on _Spike, Spike, Spike, Spike, Spike, Spike._

"Yeah," Xander said, his voice slightly rough. "Look, I wanted to say -"

"There's nothing to say."

"No. There is." Spike leaned his hip against his desk and watched him expressionlessly. Xander continued, "I just wanted to say that I'm not going to freak out at you. I know you think I will, but I won't. I heard what you said beforehand, and I understood. So don't think that I'm going to cause a scene or something."

Spike was still for a moment and then began to tug what looked an awful lot like a real paperclip out of his earlobe.

"Good," he said, tossing the twist of metal onto his desk.

"Ow. Doesn't that hurt?"

Spike shrugged.

"It'll be healed in a couple of minutes."

"Still seems like a lot of pain just for a Hallowe'en costume."

"You forget I have vampire tastes as well as vampire healing," Spike said, smirking. "A little pain can be nice."

"So - what? You like to slam your fingers in doors for fun?"

"No, although as I recall you can break someone's knee in a door if you get the angle just right."

 _I asked for that, didn't I? Ugh._

"God, Spike. I'm glad I don't have all of your memories," Xander said.

"Yeah. You really should be," Spike said quietly, watching his fingers as he played with the bit of wire.

Xander studied him for a moment. Spike sounded weary, and Xander looked beyond the makeup and hair gel to the man - vampire, whatever - beneath. He seemed tired, worn, maybe even a bit frayed beneath the layers of attitude he wore like armor.

For the first time since he had seen Spike this fall, perhaps for the first time ever, Xander felt like he was intruding. He suddenly realized that Spike wasn't a prize to be shown off or an acquaintance to be enjoyed; he was a very real person who had his own life to lead. Maybe because of the soul or maybe because of something else, it didn't seem to be quite as trouble-free as Spike liked to pretend. Xander didn't seem to be making it any easier.

"I should get back to the party," Xander said.

"Right."

"It's going great," Xander said.

"Good."

"You've made a nice place for yourself here."

Spike shrugged and continued to watch himself fiddle with the wire.

"I've had worse," he said.

"Yes, you really have."

Spike looked up and searched Xander's face for a moment.

"You, too," he said.

"Yeah."

Unable to think of anything else to say to this enigma before him, Xander nodded and left.

The rest of the night went quickly. Xander ate dinner with his foreman and some of their crew, he danced with Cassie, Mrs. Wallace, and a bunch of his co-workers, and he managed to keep George the accountant from throwing up all four piña coladas until he reached the bathroom. All in all, it was a huge success, and his bosses seemed to be as pleased with the event as they were with the work he was doing on the building. He only hoped they didn't decide to promote him to official party planner or something... or, worse, promote Cassie and leave him to find another assistant.

Xander didn't see Spike again until the party was winding down, and he didn't argue this time when the vampire, stripped of his makeup and jewelry but back in his beat-up duster, fell into step beside him on his way home.


	10. Chapter 10

"Where are you going?" Spike asked when Xander turned left outside of Cold Comfort instead of right toward his apartment.

"Thought I'd take the long way home," Xander replied, fastening up his coat against the chilly autumn breeze. "Clear my head a bit after all of the celebrating. That okay?"

Spike shrugged. When Xander started walking again, Spike hunched his shoulders and followed without further comment.

They walked side-by-side through the square, dodging clusters of costumed partiers, and passed through one of the numerous black wrought-iron gates into Harvard Yard. Despite the lights that lined the way, the space between the buildings was relatively dark and still, and Xander let out a sigh of relief at the respite from the tension of the party and the crowds in the square.

 _A quiet moonlit stroll with a vampire. If there were a graveyard, it would be a perfect Hallowe'en activity_. Xander thought.

Emerging into the open from the narrow path, he and Spike turned to stroll around the long oval framed by brick and stone buildings. The tree-studded lawns were swarming with students in various states of dress and inebriation. At least six different stereo systems could be heard through the closed windows.

 _So much for quiet_.

As Spike and Xander passed one of the freshman dorms, a rather unsteady and unconvincing boy in drag proceeded to get sick in the bushes nearby.

"What are we doing here again?" Spike asked.

"Thought I'd see what the smart kids are up to tonight."

"Vomiting, apparently," Spike said. He wrinkled his nose and increased his pace.

"They're not so different from the rest of us, I guess." Xander steered them along the outer edges of the Yard and toward one of the closer gates. Drunken revelry wasn't all that exciting to watch, even if the participants were supposedly the future of the world.

"Yeah. You and a guy with perfect SATs and no girlfriend empty both your stomachs one heave at a time."

"Not like I have a girlfriend, either." Xander winced and searched for a new subject. "I wonder what my GPA would have been if all those years of Scooby research had counted. Might've been good enough to go here."

"Well, you did manage to survive. Counts for something, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, but I lost an eye. That's got to lower my grade."

"Or show determination in the face of a challenge. They probably like that sort of thing."

"Extra credit for maiming?" Xander grinned, steering them down a path back toward the square. "And I prevented a couple of apocalypses, too. Maybe I could have gotten a scholarship."

"Saving the world is its own reward, or so I've been told."

Xander stopped in the shadow between two darkened buildings and turned to Spike.

"You never did get thanked, did you?"

"Wasn't talking about me," Spike said quickly. He shifted his weight uneasily from foot to foot.

"Still, you should be thanked. You did save the world and all of us. When Buffy told us, we were... we were..." He struggled to think of a word that was big enough to encompass the feelings inside of him.

"Surprised? Aghast? Did Rupert say 'Dear Lord' and glare disapprovingly at the crater?"

"I was going to say humbled, grateful, overwhelmed."

Spike shrugged.

"Did what I had to do. Doesn't matter. Got a life here now. Shouldn't we be getting on?" He turned on his heel and walked away.

Xander jogged down the path after Spike and drew up beside him.

"I know what you mean," Xander said. "About having a new life. I'm not the same Xander Harris as before, and you're not the same Spike whatever-your-last-name-is."

Spike turned on him sharply, and his face shifted into its demon form.

"I _am_ the same Spike, and you'd do best not to forget it."

"That's not what I meant," Xander said, calmly meeting those golden eyes.

"Yeah?" Spike's features returned to their familiar planes and angles.

"Not living in the past, especially our past, is good. It's healthy. There's too much bad back there. Looking forward is better."

Spike didn't reply and kept walking.

The way that their strides somehow matched without any effort reminded Xander of nights in Sunnydale. They hadn't gotten paired up much on patrol, because they had almost always ended up insulting each other instead of looking for whatever it was they were supposed to be killing, but when they were able to control their bickering they had been a good team. There might've been a delay for a second or two before saving the other from a pummeling, but ultimately they had done the job. They weren't friends, but they could work together.

But what were they now? They still weren't friends - Spike had been very clear about that - and they weren't working together, yet here was Spike walking with him around Cambridge. Xander had no idea why. It's not like the restaurant provided escorts home for all of its patrons.

Xander knew that if he asked Spike would only get more prickly. If he wanted to see Spike at all, in any way, he had to let him make the first move and hope that whatever he did in response wouldn't send the vampire running in the other direction. Again.

They reached Xander's apartment long before he could figure out a plan of action, but he knew that he didn't want to let Spike leave. For the first time, Spike had actually sought him out, even if it was just to walk him home, and Xander didn't want to let that opportunity pass by. He couldn't grab him and kiss him senseless, but he had to do something.

He unlocked the door to his building and took a breath.

 _It's probably not worth me asking, but -_ "Do you want to come up?"

Spike stood as still as a statue for a moment and then said, "Yeah."

*

Xander opened the door to his apartment and ushered Spike inside.

 _I've played this scene before_ , Spike thought as Xander followed behind him and threw the deadbolt. He felt a twinge in his chest and fought the urge to rub the spot that had started to ache earlier in the evening when he had fixed Xander's eye patch. _Same keys sliding across the same table. Same toss of the coat onto the same couch. Same Xander looking uncomfortable. What do I think is going to change? Should've just bloody gone home._

"Can I offer you anything?" Xander asked the wall behind Spike's shoulder.

"Now that you mention it, a pint of AB would go down a treat. Those little quiches didn't fill me up."

Xander's eye widened in panic, and he glanced back at his refrigerator.

"I don't have... I didn't expect you to..."

"I was kidding. Don't you know how to take a joke anymore?"

"Don't know how to do anything with you," Xander said quietly.

Spike frowned and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his coat.

 _So serious. He's not supposed to be serious._

"Did all right the other night," Spike said, attempting humor again.

"It's just..." Xander ran a hand through his hair but kept his focus on Spike as he spoke. "This is strange. Us, I mean. Because you don't want to be friends, but you're acting kind of friendly, and you're here and the other night was... and I said I wouldn't freak out so I'd better stop talking."

Spike blinked and watched Xander squirm under his gaze. This was the moment that he'd have to make some sort of statement. He'd have to decide what was going on once and for all.

The reasons for not getting involved with Xander remained: he was a Scooby, he was human, and he was the sort who wanted to make connections and put down roots.

On the other hand, Xander was more than attractive, responsive, and eager. He seemed to be trying to put things right. One thing that Spike had learned over the past two years was that life was too short, even when you were immortal, to deny yourself what you wanted if it was willing to be taken. There might never be another chance.

 _So what if he's Xander Harris? It's not like the past can hurt me anymore, he knows I don't want to be involved in the Scooby life, and he can't make me do anything that I don't want to do. No connections, no pain, just pleasure. Why wouldn't I do this?_

But he had to be sure that Xander was on the same page. Spike stepped closer, almost but not quite touching him, and took a deep breath.

"What do you want, Xander?" he asked. "I'm not talking about the future. I'm not talking about shiny cars and big promotions and little Harrises on your knee. What do you want right now?

Xander's skin flushed with arousal, and Spike could hear his pulse racing.

"Right now?"

"Yeah."

Xander swallowed audibly and licked his lips.

 _Say me. Say me. For once, say me._

"I... uh..." Xander looked away and then back. He squared his shoulders. "Right now, I want to kiss you."

 _Too bloody right._

"So what's stopping you?" Spike asked.

His brow furrowed, Xander searched Spike's face and then reached up to trace his fingers over Spike's cheek. Spike shuddered slightly at the sensation and managed not to lean into the touch.

"Nothing," Xander murmured, and closed the distance between them.

They slid together, melting into each other as they exchanged long, greedy kisses. Their tongues swirled and delved as their hands roamed, tugging out shirts from waistbands, pushing Spike's jacket off of his shoulders, tangling in hair, pulling at hard backs and buttocks to get even closer.

Spike forgot about his concerns, forgot about the ache in his chest, and lost himself in the deep kisses and eager caresses. He touched everywhere he could reach and plunged his tongue further into Xander's mouth. It wasn't enough. It was never enough.

Gasping for air and unsteady on his feet, Xander pulled away slightly from the embrace but kept his arms firmly around Spike.

"I need to... I need to...," he stammered, resting his forehead against Spike's.

"Take off some clothes?" Spike suggested.

Xander laughed breathlessly.

"I was going to say sit down, but that works."

"How 'bout both?"

"Couch? Bedroom?" Xander asked.

Spike could feel the tension in Xander's body at that last question, and he stroked his back soothingly beneath his shirt. He wasn't going to refuse this time.

"I like room to work," Spike said. "Bedroom."

Xander untangled himself slightly and guided them along the hallway with a hand on Spike's arm. Spike stood in the doorway as Xander set the room to rights, turning on a bedside lamp and tossing clothes off of the deep blue comforter.

Spike could see that Xander was nervous, but the man didn't pause for a second after he was done. He strode over to Spike, slid his hands around his waist, and kissed him hard. Spike let himself be pushed against the doorframe and be devoured, happy to be desired and enjoyed, but Xander broke off quickly.

"So I got what I wanted," Xander said, pressing a soft kiss to the side of Spike's neck. "What do you want?"

 _Now there's the ten million dollar question_ , Spike thought but pushed it aside. It wasn't time for reflection. It was time for action.

"You. Naked. On the bed," he said, and watched Xander's pupil flare. Spike groaned as Xander ground against him once before backing away.

Without breaking eye contact, Xander slowly unbuttoned his shirt and slipped off his shoes and socks. He let the shirt slide from his muscular arms and then flicked open the button of his chinos before skimming his pants down his legs.

Spike closed his eyes for a second to regain the ability to speak. The sight of Xander, slim and strong, undeniably aroused and dressed only in his silky maroon boxers was almost too much.

"I said naked," Spike said hoarsely, his body aching with need as Xander hooked his fingers in the waistband of his boxers and slid them down his body.

Xander climbed onto the bed and propped himself against the pillows. Spike could hear his heart pounding, but he was a man, not a boy any longer, and he didn't cover himself or turn away as Spike drank in the sight of him. Tight muscles, flushed skin, twitching erection; he was better-looking than Spike had imagined.

"You're overdressed," Xander said, grinning only slightly nervously and brushing his hair out of his face. "And over there."

Spike stripped with a century's worth of practice and slid up that hot body. Xander arched beneath him, immediately responsive to every touch, and wrapped his arms around Spike as they shared deep, wide-mouthed kisses. Hands ran over flesh, and they moaned together as their erections brushed and strained against each other.

Xander grabbed Spike's buttocks and pulled him tighter, and Spike felt the world recede as he focused only on the hot body under him, on eager mouths and hands and cocks and breaths. He didn't want to pull away even for a moment, and he lost himself as they kissed, touched, grabbed, clutched, thrust. Their movements became faster and fiercer, and Spike had to drag his hands from Xander's body to prop himself against the mattress for better leverage.

"Want to fuck you," Spike panted into Xander's mouth as their erections slid slickly together. "Want to be in you."

"Yes," Xander hissed and kissed him harder. "Want you. Spike. Please. Gonna come. God, want you."

The acquiescence and the enthusiasm undid Spike as much as the sparks of pleasure that burst through him as Xander bucked and gripped Spike's hips even more tightly. As much as Spike wanted to bury himself in that warmth he couldn't have moved away if his soul had depended on it. He was too close, spinning toward the edge against his will. Instead he dove deeper into Xander's mouth, ground harder against him, and cried Xander's name as the orgasm was torn from his body. Xander arched, clutching Spike's arms, and sticky heat splashed between them before Spike's world faded entirely to white.

A few of Xander's slowing heartbeats later, Spike took a deep breath and managed to roll sideways to collapse on his back.

"That's some body you have there," he said.

Xander laughed raggedly, covering his eyes with an arm and panting for breath.

"Not bad yourself," he said, grinning.

"Impressed now?" Spike asked.

"Ask me when my brain isn't melted." Xander let his hand flop down on his chest, and he frowned. "Ugh. Sticky."

Xander reached down to the floor and pulled up a shirt. He turned to wipe off Spike's stomach before attending to himself, and then he tossed the shirt on the floor. Sinking back onto the bed and curling on his side toward Spike, he traced his fingers over Spike's bicep. His eyelid began to droop.

"Thanks," said Spike. He felt the ache in his chest returning, and he fought to keep himself from twitching away from Xander's grasp.

"Any time," Xander said muzzily. He pushed at the sweaty hair sticking to his forehead and adjusted his eye patch.

"Doesn't bother me if you want to take it off, you know."

Spike reached out a hand toward the patch, but Xander tensed and turned his face into the pillow.

"'M fine," Xander mumbled.

 _Right, then_ , Spike thought, feeling a chill in his gut despite the warm body so close to his.

Staring at the ceiling and unconsciously rubbing the skin over his heart, Spike stayed silent and listened to Xander drift into sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

Spike was leaning against the wall in Xander's hallway when Xander got home from work the next evening. Lounging next to the door to the apartment, he was flicking his lighter on and off but not actually smoking. He raised his head and gave a half-smile when Xander came up the stairs.

"How did you get in?" Xander asked to keep himself from saying something completely stupid. It wasn't that he was unhappy to see Spike, but he wasn't sure quite what had gone on between them, apart from the writhing around and the naked bodies and the orgasming. He had hoped to have some time to sort things out before their paths crossed again.

Nearly late for work because he hadn't set the alarm and then caught up in pulling down water-damaged plaster ceilings all day, Xander he hadn't had time to think about what had happened or the fact that he had woken up alone, with the comforter over him and the light switched off. The alone didn't surprise him, but the consideration that Spike had shown did.

Spike had even left a message on the Snoopy notepad by Xander's kitchen phone. Of course, it had said _Don't want to be the sort to leave without a note. I'm off. Will try to remember to buy you some proper notepaper_ , but he had still left one.

Xander felt like he was floundering, trying and failing to understand this new Spike, and he couldn't seem to get a hold on what was happening. Sure, they had now had two undeniably hot encounters, but the whole talking part of whatever their relationship was wasn't going quite so well. He had hoped to be able to think a bit about what was going on, but Spike was here again, this time entirely of his own volition, and there was no way that Xander could turn him away.

"Door was open again. I wanted to try out your big telly," Spike said, pushing away from the wall. "Thinking of buying one, myself, but I thought I should watch yours first to see if it was worth it."

"What - is there a game on you want to see?" Xander unlocked his door and let Spike follow him inside.

Spike shrugged.

"You've got lots of channels; I can find something."

Xander was too tired to argue and wasn't sure that he wanted to anyway. He shrugged off his coat and sighed as a shower of plaster particles drifted to his carpet.

"Make yourself at home. There's beer in the fridge. I'm going to take a shower."

"You do look a bit ghostly over there." Spike wandered over toward the couch.

"You have no idea," said Xander. "I've probably got plaster between my toes there was so much of it in the air today."

Spike grunted and picked up the remote.

"Want me to turn it on for you?" Xander asked.

"I'm sure I can figure it out," said Spike. He pulled off his leather jacket, the short one this time, and slumped onto the couch.

"Okay." Xander stood dumbly for a moment and watched Spike inspect the buttons on the remote and ignore him entirely.

There were too many questions to ask and too much plaster in his ears, so Xander focused on his immediate needs and headed toward the bathroom. He turned on the shower and undressed quickly, shoving his clothes into the laundry bag in the bedroom so that the pale dust wouldn't turn to paste from the steam. When he was safely back in the bathroom he took off his eye patch, cleaned it with a damp towel, and laid it on the sink.

When the water was hot enough, he stepped under the spray and closed his eye, letting the sweat and plaster slide off of his body and disappear down the drain. He rolled his shoulder and neck and let some of the tension in his muscles dissipate under the relentless blast of warm water. Once his skin was no longer coated with a layer of solidified dust, he grabbed the soap and began to clean himself more thoroughly.

He wasn't trying to think of Spike while he washed, but his body had reacted to the sight of the vampire, and his mind flashed back to their activities of the previous night. As he scrubbed himself, he remembered the fire in Spike's eyes when they kissed, the feel of that hard erection against his stomach, the groans of satisfaction as their movements had intensified.

Xander let out a groan himself and tried to ignore his own growing erection. It's not like he could relieve his arousal in the shower when Spike was in the living room, but he sure as hell couldn't go back out there in this state. It was too embarrassing, if also likely to lead him to making bad decisions. Spending time with Spike was tricky enough; he didn't need to add his rampant hormones into the mix.

So he kept his hands well above his waist and shampooed his hair. He tried to think of boring things, like schedules and time sheets, but he was having little luck calming his body by the time he ducked his head under the spray to rinse away the suds. He stood with his face tilted up into the water and debated the merits of masturbation with a vampire nearby versus facing said vampire with a raging hard-on. Neither seemed like a good option.

He nearly leapt out of his skin when something cool traced his spine from neck to waist.

"Geaaagh!" he cried, twisting around halfway and then whirling back so that his face was hidden. His feet slid on the bottom of the tub, and he grabbed the wall to keep himself upright. "Spike! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"You look much nicer when you're not all white and pasty," Spike said, running his hands over Xander's back. "Wet and slippery is even better."

"What are you doing in here?" Xander asked. As much as he wanted to drink in the sight of an equally naked, wet, and slippery Spike, he kept his face turned away.

"I was sitting on the couch watching some idiots blather on about chuff all and couldn't stop thinking about what we could be doing in here together. I see you started without me," Spike said, pressing close and running his hands along Xander's hips and down his thighs. One thumb brushed along Xander's erection, and Xander drew in a sharp breath.

"God, Spike..."

"Were you thinking of me?" Spike trailed his tongue along Xander's shoulder and up his neck.

Xander wasn't sure that he could think at all, not with Spike hard against his back and Spike's hands wandering over his chest and stomach. Somehow the question filtered through to his brain, and he couldn't possibly come up with a lie.

"Yes."

"What were you thinking about?" Spike asked. The fingers of one hand began to trace over one of Xander's nipples, while the other began to move lower on Xander's abdomen.

"You. Touching you. You touching me."

"I _am_ touching you."

Xander shuddered as water-warmed fingers slid over his erection and formed a loose channel around it. He desperately wanted to kiss Spike, to press him into the wall and devour him, but he couldn't - wouldn't - turn around.

"Look, can you just give me a minute? I'll be done in a sec, and then we could go to the bedroom or something..."

"I like it here," said Spike, tightening his grip around Xander's cock and stroking it once, twice. "Don't you like it?"

"Oh, yeah, I..." Xander groaned as Spike quickened his pace slightly. "Fuck."

"We'll get there. Be patient." He nibbled on Xander's earlobe and slid the hand on his chest to play with the other nipple.

Unable to remember quite why he wanted this attention to stop, Xander reached back and gripped Spike's hips, pulling him more firmly against him. They both sucked in a breath as Spike's erection was cradled by Xander's buttocks and slid up toward the small of his back.

"Yes, definitely like you slippery," said Spike. He kissed Xander's shoulder and pressed in harder, crowding Xander against the wall and rubbing against him as he slowly jerked him off.

Xander let his head fall back on Spike's shoulder, keeping the scarred side of his face turned away, and clutched Spike's hip with one hand while he balanced against the wall with the other. The vampire stroked his erection and slid his other hand possessively across his chest and stomach. Spike's pace was achingly slow, but the twist of his fingers and the smooth slide of his thumb across the tip were so perfect that Xander's legs were shaking with the strain of standing still.

He didn't seem to be the only one lost in sensation. Spike's face was buried against Xander's neck, and the slickness between Xander's buttocks was from more than just water. Spike slid against him as he pulled and caressed, and Xander could feel the head of Spike's shaft gliding along his skin with every tilt of his hips.

"Want you," Spike murmured just beneath his ear. His hand tightened around Xander's cock.

Xander groaned and pulled Spike closer.

"Bedroom?" he asked hoarsely. He opened his eye and tried to blink away the haze of lust that was clouding his vision.

"You got a problem with your shower, mate? It looks pretty clean to me, and the water's nice and hot."

"No, I..."

Spike slid his free hand down to cup Xander's balls, and the concept of independent thought flew out of Xander's brain.

"You sure? You seem awfully interested in getting out." Spike pulled and tugged just hard enough, and Xander's eyelid slammed shut as he locked his knees and tried to keep himself from coming. "You want me to leave first?"

Spike's hands loosened, and Xander shook his head and tightened his grip on Spike's hip.

"No!" he said quickly.

Spike's rumble of laughter sent pulses of eager anticipation up Xander's spine.

"Right then. Hands on the wall." Spike released him and stepped back.

"Huh?" Dazed and lost without Spike's arms around him, Xander heard the rustle of the shower curtain behind him.

"Put your hands on the wall." Spike said more slowly. He returned and slid his hands down Xander's arms until he got to his wrists. He pushed Xander forward and placed the palms of his hands on the tiles. Nudging Xander's legs apart with his knee, he murmured in his ear, "Now stay there."

Xander dipped his head and let his hair fall into his face as he listened to Spike behind him. He heard the snap of a cap and wondered in confusion if Spike was going to brush his teeth.

A slick finger slid between his buttocks, and Xander's head shot upwards.

"What are you...?" he asked, breaking off with a gasp as the pad of one finger brushed over his perineum and the tight opening beyond. "That had better not be toothpaste."

Spike laughed again.

"Raided your nightstand before I came in," he said, slowing rubbing that finger over Xander's sensitive skin. "Never tried toothpaste before. Any good?"

"Let's not find out," said Xander, dropping his head again and pressing his fingers into the tiles.

Spike's finger kept moving, sliding back and forth over his pucker until Xander was rocking with the motion. He had a brief moment of distress when Spike turned away again, but his finger returned quickly and even more slippery.

"Okay?" Spike asked. He slid his free hand up Xander's chest and held him close when Xander nodded. His finger began to press, gently at first and then harder until the ring of muscle opened and accepted him inside.

Xander groaned at the intrusion, relishing the slight burn and the feel of the tip of Spike's finger.

"Good?" Spike's voice was a harsh whisper, and his arm was locked around Xander's chest.

"Yes. More. Please."

"I'm right here. Take what you want." He pressed a kiss to the nape of Xander's neck.

Squeezing his eye shut, Xander braced himself against the wall and pushed back against Spike's hand. The finger slid easily inside, and he trembled at the rush of pleasure that spread through his body.

"God, you're so tight," said Spike, panting against his shoulder. "So bloody tight."

"Don't do this a lot," Xander admitted.

Spike grunted and twisted his finger, sending sparks cascading through Xander's abdomen.

"But you are for me." His voice was husky as he crooked his finger slightly and turned it again. "You're doing this for me. Feel good to you?"

"Yes. God, yes." He could feel Spike's knuckles working against him, and he pushed back harder. They both groaned, and Spike rocked his erection against Xander's hip. "More."

Spike carefully removed his hand and released Xander briefly before sliding back into place and pushing two slick fingers inside.

Xander took in a shuddering breath and forced himself to relax as Spike slowly pressed inwards. He had been telling the truth; he didn't do this often, and he wasn't used to it. Spike was being careful, though, and it felt absolutely incredible.

"I can feel you opening for me," Spike said, resting his forehead on Xander's shoulder blade. Xander widened his stance, and Spike thrust deeper. "You're taking me in. Fuck, Xander. You're... Fuck."

Panting and desperately hard, Xander groaned as Spike spread his fingers and twisted his hand. It felt like every nerve in his body was being touched, and he rocked back into the movements, trying to take more, to feel Spike further inside. He swore as Spike found the spot that sent fireworks exploding behind his eyes, and they moved together as Xander's body stretched and quaked around Spike's fingers.

"Ready for more?" Spike asked.

"Fuck, yes!"

The arm that had been holding Xander so tightly loosened and slid downwards. Slippery with water and the pre-cum drooling from Xander's cock, Spike's hand began to pull gently on Xander's erection as he carefully pushed a third finger inside. The burning increased enough to cause Xander to tense, but the stimulation on his shaft kept his arousal high despite the discomfort.

"Okay?"

"Don't stop," Xander said, bearing down on the fingers and feeling his head spinning with an intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure. He felt his muscles loosening as he grew used to the intrusion.

Murmuring words of praise and delight, Spike kept stroking until Xander was writhing and fucking himself on his fingers and into his hand. Backwards or forwards, either way sent sharp splinters of arousal through his body, and he felt like he was going to be ripped apart by the pleasure.

"Fuck, Spike, I don't know about you," he managed to say in panting breaths, "but I'm pretty sure I'm going to die if you're not in me soon."

Spike laughed, this time with an edge of desperation, and bit gently on the side of Xander's neck.

"Can't have that, can we?" He pulled out his fingers and shifted to stand behind Xander. The blunt head of his cock brushed along the crack and against the back of Xander's balls before finding the right spot. Holding Xander's hips with both hands, Spike pushed slowly inside.

Words were beyond Xander. He was being filled, and it was _Spike_ , and he was so goddamn aroused that he wanted to scream with frustration and joy at the same time. It was too slow, too careful, and he couldn't wait another minute. He pressed backwards and took Spike in as deep as he could.

Groaning, they both went still, and Xander could feel Spike's fingers repeatedly tensing and relaxing as they gripped his hips.

"You are so hot, Xander. Tight and slick and... fuck!" Spike rocked forward, pushing in further, and they moaned in unison.

Spike slid one hand forward and gripped Xander's cock again. He pulled out and thrust in hard, and then he repeated the motion. As he fucked Xander, Xander fucked Spike's hand, and the feeling of being pushed open and sliding in that expert grip all at once was perfect, more than perfect. Xander bowed his head, braced himself, and got lost in the rhythm and the bright bursts of pleasure that crashed over him.

Good things never lasted, in Xander's experience, and this was no exception. As much as he wanted this moment to last for a lifetime he spiraled inexorably toward his orgasm. Spike's desperate grunts and rapid thrusts showed that he was equally close, and the thought of what he was doing and who he was doing it with was enough to send Xander's release surging out of him. He fell forward, and Spike pinned him to the wall, thrusting deep inside of him a few more times before groaning his name and collapsing against his back.

The cool surface of the tile and the cooling water running over them were enough to keep Xander from sliding into unconsciousness, but he couldn't do more than gasp for breath and lean against the wall as the world spun lazily around him.

Spike stirred first, pulling out gently and patting Xander's hip. Xander was tensing for the inevitable battle about turning around for some post-orgasmic kisses when to his surprise Spike stepped out of the tub.

"Ready for some dinner?" Spike asked, sounding satisfied and cheerful and entirely unconcerned that they had just fucked each other's brains out for the first time in his bathroom. "There's a Cary Grant movie on."

"Uh..."

"You clean up. I'll order dinner."

Before Xander could answer, Spike had left the room.

His ears still ringing from his orgasm, Xander washed quickly in the lukewarm water and turned off the shower. His body was pleasantly achy as he dried off and pulled his eye patch back on over his damp hair. He tugged on a t-shirt and sweatpants and wandered out to the living room.

"Dinner's on its way," Spike said. He was damp and appealingly rumpled, dressed only in jeans, and he handed Xander a beer. "You still like pizza, right?"

"Yeah." Xander sat on the couch and tried to pull his thoughts together while Spike flicked through channels. He was too tired and too sated to figure out what the hell was going on and why he felt both peaceful and hollow, and his brain gave up. He was actually drifting into sleep when there was a knock on the door.

"I'll get it," said Spike. He sauntered over to the door and dealt with the delivery person, giving him money from a shiny black wallet.

 _Just like old times_ , Xander thought. _Paying for dinner with my money... Hey, wait, my wallet is brown._

"Did you just buy dinner?" he asked.

"Yeah." Spike placed the boxes on the kitchen counter and began to open cupboard doors.

"We should split it."

"Why? I've got money."

"Yeah, but..."

"Consider it reciprocation."

"For what? For all of those times you mooched off of me or for services rendered?" Xander asked, trying for but not quite achieving a grin.

"I never mooched. And what services rendered? As I recall, you just stood there while I did all the work."

Xander knew that Spike was joking; he could see it in his eyes, but that didn't stop the hurt from blooming in his chest. He looked away, unwilling to show how stupidly vulnerable he was. He was just tired, that's all.

"I meant reciprocation for all the money you spend at the restaurant, you git," Spike said, suddenly beside him with a plate of pizza. "Nothing more."

"Okay."

"It's just dinner, Xander."

"Yeah. Okay." He accepted the food and the unspoken apology.

They ate their dinner in silence, and Xander slumped back against the cushions when he was done. He didn't mean to be rude, but he could feel the consciousness bleeding out of his ears as Spike flipped channels and grumbled about old movies being edited by the networks. Before he could wake up enough to apologize for his fatigue, it was morning, the television was off, he was covered in a blanket, and he was alone.

There was a small pad of paper on the coffee table in front of him, and he smiled as he picked it up. It was obviously a Hallowe'en leftover and was decorated with a border of black and orange skeletons.

 _I'm off_ , the note read in Spike's precise handwriting. _Nice TV. Like your shower even better._


	12. Chapter 12

Brimming with energy, Spike pulled on his coat and turned off the lamp on his desk. He was nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waited for his computer to shut down. He had spent all weekend working, and the torture of being pleasant to others when what he really wanted was to be left alone was finally at an end. The last patrons of Cold Comfort had finally left, it was a clear, moonlit night, and he was ready to go kill things.

There was a knock on the door to his office, and Anne stuck her head inside the darkened room.

"You busy?" she asked.

"Yes." He switched off his monitor.

"What are you doing?"

"Lights off. Coat on. What does it look like? I'm heading out."

"We need you for a minute."

"It can wait 'til tomorrow." Spike shoved his chair into place behind his desk.

Anne shook her head.

"Not really. Maurice wants you to okay the new menu."

"Whatever he wants is fine with me," said Spike.

"He wants you to taste the new dishes."

"Since when does the menu go through me? You know I don't care about that stuff. That's why I have you lot."

Anne crossed her arms over her chest.

"Since you blew up at Alan for buying new plates without your permission."

"You saw 'em; they were flimsy _and_ ugly! Alan deserved far worse than what he got."

 _Like evisceration_ , he thought sourly. _Lucky for him he's human._

"And now Maurice wants your approval before he goes ahead with the changes," said Anne.

Spike sighed.

"There's no way around this, is there?"

Anne shook her head.

Spike's shoulders slumped, and he scowled as he tugged off his coat.

"Knew I should never have taken over this bloody restaurant," he said.

"Aw, come on. You know you love it," Anne said, leading the way to the kitchen. "The hectic pace, the endless crises, the staff waiting to carry out your every command..."

"The constant noise of the kitchen, the terrible smells, the staff waiting to argue with me at every turn..."

Anne grinned and pushed open the kitchen door.

"Like I said. You love it."

"Sometimes," Spike admitted and followed her inside.

An hour and a half later Spike emerged from the hot kitchen and retrieved his coat from his office. He was far less excited about his evening than he had been before the long argument amongst his senior staff about the new menu, which he _still_ didn't give a damn about despite having made the final decisions, but he was even more edgy than before. It was definitely a good night to hunt demons.

Spike let himself out of the rear door of Cold Comfort and took a deep breath of the cool night air to clear his lungs of the grease of the kitchens. He hadn't been kidding when he had complained to Anne about the smells of the restaurant; food odors were an unavoidable part of the business, but his heightened senses were easily overwhelmed. He was glad to get out of there.

Hearing his staff getting ready to leave, he stalked down the street before they could catch up with him and try to convince him to join them at some after-hours bar or apartment party. He had chosen them because they were good at their jobs, sometimes to the point of driving him absolutely mad, not because he wanted to socialize.

Besides, there had been a rise in the deaths of homeless people on the Common, and Spike suspected that there was a pack of demons behind it instead of the cops' theory about gang violence. By dispatching them he'd be doing the city a favor and would be able to work off some of his own tension as well. Plus, killing things was still fun, even if the soul restricted his range of victims. He needed some fun after so much work.

With a slight smile playing about his lips as he thought about the inky shine of blood in the moonlight, Spike glanced down a familiar side street and was surprised to see a light on in one of Xander's windows. It was past midnight on a Sunday, but Xander was still up. Spike's smile grew, and he turned down Xander's street. Perhaps they could have some fun together out hunting demons before getting up to even more fun back in Xander's big bed. Both ways of releasing tension were better with a partner.

Spike rolled his eyes when he saw that the front door to the building was held open by an empty pizza box. A handwritten note addressed to "Maggie" was taped to the door. Spike left the note but kicked the box out of the way before he went inside.

"Spike!" Xander blinked at him in surprise as he opened the door to Spike's sharp knock. His hair was rumpled, and he wore sweatpants and a threadbare t-shirt. He peered out into the hallway. "How did you -"

"You really ought to discuss the lax security in your building," Spike said, brushing past Xander and sauntering into the apartment. "All sorts of undesirables could get in."

"Undesira..." Xander shook his head and shut the door. "What are you -"

"Get your kit on and grab an axe," said Spike. "We're going out."

"I'm not going anywhere. I've got work to do. Besides, it's the middle of the night."

"Better time for demon hunting than whatever it is _you're_ working on."

"Budgets," said Xander, nodding to the papers spread out over the coffee table. "I can't make them add up right."

"Don't you have people for that? Scrawny blokes with spectacles and pocket protectors?"

"They're actually frighteningly together young women with expensive suits and even more expensive calculators, but, yes. They give me the budgets, but I have to make the one from on site match up with the one from the home office. They _look_ right, but I can't get the numbers to come out the same."

"Get Cassie to look at it," said Spike. "She's probably smarter than the two of us put together."

"She is, and I would, but she's got the day off tomorrow, and this needs to be finished by lunchtime." Xander ran his hand through his hair and glanced blearily into the kitchen. "I should make another pot of coffee."

"You need some violence to clear your head."

"What I _need_ is for this to be finished."

Spike sighed. Xander didn't look like he was going to be persuaded.

"Want me to look at it?" he asked.

Xander shook his head.

"Thanks, but I'll get it eventually."

"I've had to figure out how to read these things, myself. Doesn't hurt to have another pair of eyes look it over."

"Or even one full set." Xander grinned.

Spike settled down on the couch and scanned the paperwork. He knew that the error had to be something subtle if it had eluded Xander's careful search for so long, and he focused on typos, simple mathematical errors, and other things easy to overlook. Xander puttered around the apartment, and Spike soon found the problem.

"Think I've got it. You've got a decimal off over here, unless you really are paying a hundred dollars for each 'antique reproduction doorknob.'"

Xander sat beside Spike on the couch and flipped through his papers until he found the proper invoice.

"Nope. Ten bucks each, direct from the manufacturer. The power of buying in bulk," he said. "So then if we change the amount there and multiply it by the number of doors in the building..." He punched some numbers into his calculator. "And now we're in the right ballpark. Finally." He smiled at Spike. "Thanks. I don't know how I missed it."

"No worries. It's an easy mistake to make and a hard one to find."

"Especially when I'm so tired that the numbers are doing the fandango across the page."

Spike edged closer and took the papers from Xander's hands.

"Wouldn't it be more fun to do some dancing of your own? I've got something in mind..."

"Yeah?"

Setting the papers back on the table, Spike grinned as he heard Xander's heartbeat speeding up. He leaned forward, brushing their cheeks together and drawing his fingers gently up Xander's thigh.

"I've got a question for you," he murmured in Xander's ear.

"What's that?" Xander's voice was husky, and he skimmed one hand across Spike's shoulder.

Spike slid his hand over Xander's stomach and nipped gently at his earlobe. He was sorely tempted to continue in this vein, but his original plan let him kill demons _and_ enjoy Xander naked. He'd stick to it.

He mouthed along Xander's neck and brushed his fingers across his abdomen. Xander groaned in response.

"Where do you keep your weapons?" he asked and sat back with a smile.

"My what?"

"Weapons. Pointy sticks, pointier swords. Where do you keep them?"

Xander blinked at him for a moment and then grimaced.

"Bastard. You enjoyed that way too much," he said, rising to his feet and stretching. He seemed unconcerned that the tent in his sweatpants was now at Spike's eye-level.

"What? It's a perfectly reasonable question."

"Maybe in your world. Anyway, I don't have any weapons."

"What?" That statement shocked Spike enough to draw his gaze away from its enjoyment of Xander's body. He looked up at Xander's face. "No weapons? None at all?"

"I think I have a stake or two somewhere."

"No axes?"

"Nope."

"No crossbows?"

Xander shook his head.

"Not even a sword?"

"Not even a bottle of holy water," said Xander.

"Are you completely off your gourd?" Spike rose from the couch and began to pace around the room. "You grew up on the Hellmouth, were friends with the Slayer, killed hundreds of demons, and now you don't have so much as a bloody _communion wafer_ to defend yourself?"

"Hey, I always wondered about communion wafers. Do they really -"

Spike stopped suddenly and emptied out his pockets.

"Sword or ax?"

"Huh?"

"Do you want a sword or an ax? If I make a couple of calls, I can get you one in fifteen minutes," Spike said, sorting through receipts, crumpled business cards, and candy wrappers to find the right phone numbers.

"I don't want either."

"A mace, then?"

"No."

"A really big knife?"

Laughing, Xander shook his head.

"Spike, I don't want any weapons."

"So you think your bare hands are enough when some big spiny demons with acidic ichor and big teeth corners you in a dark alley?"

"I don't think that I'll be in any dark alleys at all, demon-inhabited or not." Xander shrugged. "That's not my life anymore."

Spike clenched his jaw and tried not to yell.

"The demons aren't going to go away just because you pretend that they're not there," he said as calmly as possible.

"I know that, but I can do everything in my power to avoid them. I don't visit magic shops, I don't go to demon bars, and I definitely don't go out in the middle of the night to hunt them."

"But they're still out there."

"I know, but I have a normal life now - well, as normal as it can be with the friends I have - and I'm not going back. No swords in my closet and unidentifiable goop on my clothes. No spells, no apocalypses, no demons. Just regular stuff." He glanced over his shoulder into the kitchen. "You sure you don't want any coffee? Or a beer? I think we both deserve a beer."

Xander wandered toward the refrigerator, seemingly oblivious to the impact his easily-spoken words had on Spike. It's not that the vampire thought that the two of them had anything much in common besides a shared history that neither of them wanted to talk about, but Spike hadn't realized just how much Xander had separated himself from the demon world that Spike still inhabited. It's not like Spike had a choice; even with getting a soul, being dusted, and somehow being resurrected again, he was still a vampire. It was all he _could_ be, and the supernatural was a basic fact of his unlife. It was why he existed. Xander wanted nothing to do with it.

It made sense, Spike supposed. Xander had been dragged into the realm of monsters and magic against his will, and he had always led a normal life outside of his ex-demon girlfriend and odd group of friends. He had had a succession of depressing but undeniably regular jobs, and he had only helped out the Slayer in his spare time. His hatred of all things demonic had never been hidden. Now that he had become even more independent, it wasn't a surprise that he would remove himself further from a world that he so obviously found repugnant.

Spike shoved the papers back in his pockets.

"Don't want anything. Guess I'll let you get to bed."

Xander shut the refrigerator door and walked toward him.

"You going to join me?" he asked with a grin.

"Nah. It's a school night for you, isn't it? 'sides, it's still early for me."

"Bet I could tire you out." Xander took another step forward, his eyes dark with promise.

Spike shrugged and stepped out of Xander's reach.

"Maybe another time."

"Okay," Xander said, frowning. "Uh... thanks again for your help with the budgets."

"Yeah."

Spike didn't stop to say goodbye. Instead he kept up an internal running commentary about how much he didn't care about Xander's blind decision to ignore demons, which would bloody well get him killed, and it would serve him right, and he wasn't all that fun to be with, and it's not like Spike wanted anything to do with him anyway... until he was skewered in the side by a burly demon with a bunch of friends and a very sharp sword and had to concentrate on fighting for his life instead.

*

There was something about the neon lighting and mirrored surfaces of the stairs to HMV that made Xander feel old. Maybe it was the groups of teenagers clustered around the new releases once he got inside, or maybe it was the fact that he hadn't heard of half of the bands they were giggling over, but getting up those stairs and through the crowds at the front of the store always made him feel like a middle-aged man with a gut and grey hair. The gut was gone, and the grey hairs hadn't shown up yet, but the years of life still felt like they were pressing on him.

It probably had to do with how long ago it felt like it had been since he had been as young and clueless as the kids gushing over the newest boy band. Okay, maybe unaware was a better word; Dawn still called him clueless at every opportunity. All that he had seen through his friendship with Buffy had made him grow up far too fast in some ways, and, even if he was trying to live his life as a normal twenty-something with a few particularly talented friends, the days when he could walk along a mirrored corridor without glancing around to see who didn't have a reflection were long past.

Still, he wasn't going to wallow in innocence lost; he'd leave the brooding for Angel. Instead he dodged the teenagers, nodded hello to Dave, his favorite clerk, and wandered over to the imports section.

Pulling a printout of Willow's latest e-mail from his pocket, Xander began to flip through the racks to look for the new indy group that she was so excited about. She had raved about them incessantly over the phone and e-mail for the past month, and today's e-mail had been no exception. He had finally decided to break down and buy the CD that night after work so that she could move on to bugging him about something else.

"Empty. Of course," he muttered as he found the slot that should have held their disc. "Guess I'll have to try Tower..."

Scanning the displays at eye level one last time, he didn't see the person walking behind him until Xander accidentally elbowed him as he swung around.

"Watch where you're going, you stupid..." Spike's insult was cut off when he saw who it was, though the pained look on his face remained. "Oh, just great."

"Hey, Spike. Sorry about that," said Xander. He frowned as Spike ran his hand over his ribs beneath his duster. "You okay there?"

"Bloody fantastic." He grimaced and cracked his neck. "Are you going to stand there and block the CDs all night?"

"What? Oh, sorry." Xander stepped aside. He searched for something to say, since Spike was clearly as prickly as he had been the night before. "Looking for anything in particular?"

"What - do you work here now? Thought you had finally gotten beyond your quest for minimum wage."

Xander frowned as Spike flipped through CDs. Not only was Spike grumpy, but he looked somewhat stiff as he leaned over the racks. Suspicious, Xander gingerly poked him in the side. Spike jumped and let out a strangled yelp.

"What the hell did you do that for, you git?" he asked, clutching the CDs in his hand so tightly that Xander could hear the plastic cases cracking.

"You _are_ hurt."

"Yeah? What of it?"

"What happened?"

"Demon got lucky last night, that's all."

Xander reached out to touch him again, and Spike took a step back.

"Didn't figure you for a sadist, Harris."

"If it's still hurting you, it must be serious. Do you want me to look at it?"

"No."

"Why not?" He glanced at Spike's lean torso beneath his jacket. The t-shirt clung to him like a second skin. "Have you even bandaged it?"

"It's not bleeding anymore. Not like I can get an infection."

"What happened?"

"Just a sword through the gut. I've had worse. Ruined my coat, though. Good thing it wasn't the duster. Would've had to kill the buggers twice for that."

"Just a sword through the... _Spike_! Why didn't you come to me when it happened? I could've helped."

"Why the hell would I? Been on my own since your great-great-great-grandfather was a boy, haven't I?"

"Sometimes it's nice to have another pair of hands to reach a tricky place," Xander said, swallowing back the hurt.

"Don't bloody well need _yours_."

Xander clenched his jaw and nodded. He refused to show any reaction to such a blatant rejection.

"Fair enough," he said.

"Good," said Spike.

"I'll get out of your way."

"I'm done." Spike tossed down the CDs, and they skittered across the rows of dividers and into the side of the rack. "I was just leaving."

"Well, so was I."

Not looking at each other, they stomped out of the store and down the stairs. As always, Xander glanced over at the mirrored wall.

"Still a vamp, Harris. Still can do all of the party tricks," Spike said coldly.

Xander frowned.

"I know."

"Yeah, I bet you do." Spike leapt down the last few steps and vanished into the crowds of shoppers on the sidewalk outside the store.


	13. Chapter 13

Spike successfully avoided both seeing and thinking about Xander until Saturday night, when he turned a corner near Harvard Square on his way to buy some cigarettes and nearly walked right into him.

"This city is too bloody small," he grumbled under his breath.

"Hey, Spike," Xander said. "How's it going?"

"Out alone and unarmed, I see," Spike said, stepping back. "Tempting fate again?"

Xander shrugged and shoved his hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket.

"Just on my way home from the movies. _Battleship Mars_. It was pretty good, if you like explosions and stuff."

" _Battleship Mars_? Oh, yeah, your great geekiness should more than enough to keep the monsters at bay. Might work better if you wore your Vulcan ears, though. Then there'd be no question."

Xander's jaw clenched.

"Thanks for the tip."

"Anything for a friend," Spike said with a smirk. "Oh, wait..."

"I wouldn't want to ruin your image by having someone see you with such a big geek, so I'll be on my way." Without waiting for a reply, Xander stepped around Spike and strode down the street.

Spike turned and stared after him. He hadn't given much thought to what he was saying, but now that Xander had walked away Spike actually felt a bit bad about baiting him. There wasn't the usual thrill of victory that went along with poking at someone's sore spots.

 _Damn soul._

As annoyed as he had been, Spike had to admit that Xander hadn't done anything particularly wrong the other day; he had simply spoken his mind without thinking. Afterward he had been friendly, despite the fact that Spike was rude. He had even sort of smiled when he saw Spike tonight. Maybe he really was that clueless about what he had said.

Spike watched Xander get further away down the darkened street, and he rolled his eyes as he set out after him.

"Clueless is the right word," he muttered, walking quickly to make up some of the ground between them. "Walking around at night with no weapons. Doesn't want anything to do with demons, yeah, but do they bloody well care about that? 'You don't like demons? Oh, sorry, I won't suck your brains out through your ears. Have a nice night.' Git."

Keeping in the shadows as the streets grew less populated, Spike followed Xander toward his apartment. He wasn't making a great effort not to be seen, but he thought that he was being sufficiently stealthy to avoid detection. When he came around a corner onto an empty street, however, Xander was leaning against the nearest building, his arms folded across his chest.

"What are you doing?" Xander asked.

"Uh..."

"Even _I_ could hear you following me. You don't exactly tiptoe."

Spike frowned at his feet.

"Stupid boots. They're not made for being sneaky."

"Neither are you," Xander said, pushing away from the wall. "Your hair reflects the streetlights."

Spike rubbed the back of his neck and glanced around the street.

"Right, well..."

"I'm going home," Xander said. "If you're going to follow me, you might as well keep me company. Besides, if anything does jump out, you'll be near enough to _do_ something about it instead of watch me bleed to death down the block."

"I'm fast."

"Not as fast as a bullet."

Spike blinked.

"Let's get going, then," Spike said.

Xander fell into step beside him, and they walked side-by-side, hands in their pockets, eyes on the sidewalk ahead.

"If I ask, will you tell me why you went from Innuendo Man to Mr. Prickly in ten seconds flat the other day?" Xander asked.

"Probably not," Spike said, shrugging.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Xander didn't sound offended. "And you won't tell me why you're following me, right?"

"Never said I was following you. Maybe I was going in this direction."

Xander chuckled.

"Anything's possible. So you won't tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong,"

"Spike, you're all temperamental and stuff, which, sure, is pretty much normal for you, or was, anyway, but..." Xander trailed off. "With most of my friends I'd blame your attitude on PMS, but I'm pretty damn sure you're not a girl."

"I'm a vampire. I'm moody."

"But -"

"Look, it's fine," Spike said, already tired of the conversation.

It _was_ fine. He had just made too much of something that wasn't a surprise. Xander hated demons, but Spike had already known that. Nothing had changed. Spike had simply forgotten for a little while why he was spending time with Xander at all. He was thankful for the reminder.

"I don't think so," Xander said. "You were upset last week when you left my apartment, and you pretty much freaked out at HMV."

"Like I said, I'm moody."

"But I feel like I did something -"

"We're not birds, Harris," Spike said sharply. "Can we skip the whole mushy heart-to-heart? We seem to get in trouble when we start to talk."

Xander frowned, but he kept walking.

When they reached his building, Xander turned to face Spike instead of unlocking the door.

"So we're okay?"

"You're worrying too much about something that isn't worth it," Spike said. "This isn't a big deal. We've fucked a few times, and I'm happy to do it again. It shouldn't be complicated."

"Right, but -"

"Get your Freud on with someone else; I've got better things to do with you."

Xander looked down at the keys in his hand, and his brow creased as though he was considering something. He was silent for far longer than Spike expected. How difficult was the concept? It wasn't about friendship; it was about pleasure. Emotional stuff shouldn't enter into it. Spike had obviously let himself slip the other night, but now he was back on track. What did Xander have to think about?

Raising his chin, Xander met Spike's gaze.

"So, do you want to come up?" he asked.

Having been ready to turn on his heel if Xander started talking about feelings again, Spike grinned with relief.

"Your building _does_ have a bad track record for security. Wouldn't do for you to get hurt in the elevator."

"You'd better come in then."

Xander opened the front door, for once locked as it should be, and Spike followed him inside and into the elevator.

As the doors slid closed, Xander stepped closer.

"Can I...?" He waited for a moment and then dipped his head to give Spike a brief, closed-lipped kiss. He searched Spike's eyes. "We're fine?"

Spike pulled Xander against him and kissed him harder, spearing his tongue inside Xander's mouth and sliding it along his teeth.

"Much better," he said, and grinned as Xander blinked at him. The elevator doors slid open, and Spike stepped out into the hallway. He raised an eyebrow. "You coming?"

Breaking out of his daze, Xander smirked and headed toward his apartment.

There was no rushing when they got inside. Xander placed his keys on the table, and for once they stayed there. Spike's coat joined his across the back of the couch. Cell phone and wallet were placed beside the keys, and then the two men came together in the middle of the room, arms slipping around each other and lips meeting.

Spike enjoyed kissing. Not that a rough fuck wasn't good on its own merits, but he had always liked the feel of lips parting and tongues sliding together. Xander's warm body and breath added to the experience, increasing the heat that was growing inside Spike from the intimacy.

He pushed in closer, sliding his hands up Xander's back and deepening the kiss. Xander caressed his back and shoulders, fingers tangling briefly in his hair before skimming down his sides.

"You're all better now?" Xander asked, one hand brushing over Spike's wound.

"Yeah. No worries."

Xander kissed him again, quickly moving from Spike's lips along his jaw and down his neck.

"I want to see," he said, tugging at the hem of Spike's shirt.

Spike chuckled.

"Regular Florence Nightingale, aren't you?" he said.

"I've always liked playing doctor." Xander grinned and walked Spike backwards toward the bedroom.

"Cutting open the patients is the best part," Spike said and laughed when Xander made a face of disgust.

When they reached the bedroom, Xander turned his attention back to Spike's clothes. He pulled off his t-shirt and ran his hands over the smooth skin of Spike's side. There was no indication that Spike had been seriously injured less than a week before.

Happy to let Xander's hands and lips explore his body, Spike let himself be pushed back onto the bed. He lifted one foot and then the other so that Xander could remove the boots that had given his presence away on the street.

"The view from this angle would be better if you took off that bulky sweater," Spike commented.

"It _is_ getting pretty hot in here. Or maybe that's just you." Xander grinned. "Okay, that was bad, even for me."

Spike laughed.

"That was terrible. Tell you what. Come here and I'll let you make it up to me," he said.

Tugging off his sweater, shirt, and shoes, Xander climbed over Spike and slowly lowered his weight onto the vampire.

"I like that idea," he said, settling between Spike's legs.

The warmth of the solid flesh above him made Spike groan, and he wrapped one hand around the back of Xander's neck to pull his mouth down to his own.

They kissed as their bodies moved restlessly against each other. Spike kept one hand at Xander's neck while the other slid across his back and into the waistband of his jeans. Xander's hands were busy stroking down Spike's throat and chest, and when he broke away for air his lips followed the same path.

Soft touches of heat burned Spike's skin as Xander slid lips and tongue beneath his chin, across his collarbones, and down his breastbone. He gasped as Xander's fingers played across his nipples and traced the muscles in his abdomen.

Xander's tongue traced those same muscles, and Spike arched into the touch. His fingers dug into the sheets as Xander pressed open-mouthed kisses along his ribs.

"God, Spike. You taste so good," Xander murmured. He slid further down on the bed and watched Spike from beneath his lashes as he played with the buttons on the vampire's jeans.

"Fuck!" Spike jerked upwards as the heel of Xander's hand brushed his erection.

"Another great idea." Xander pulled open Spike's jeans and backed off of the bed as he removed them. He stripped off the rest of his own clothes, and Spike felt himself hardening further at the sight of the body in front of him.

Much to his surprise, Xander didn't come back to lie on top of him, but instead reclined beside him and dipped his head to kiss Spike's chest.

"I like tasting you," Xander said, propping himself up on one elbow as he kissed and sucked Spike's skin. His free hand roamed over Spike's stomach and thighs, and Spike turned to pull Xander closer. "No, let me."

Xander pushed Spike's hip back to the bed and sucked hard enough on his stomach that he left a mark. Panting, Spike watched as Xander smiled and repeated the action a few inches away. The burn of the suction and flare of heat went straight to Spike's cock, and his hips thrust upward involuntarily.

"Like that, do you?"

"Do it again," Spike said.

Xander licked and sucked across Spike's abdomen. Painfully hard, Spike swore as Xander latched his lips over Spike's hipbone and bit down just enough. He repeated the action and slid his hand around Spike's erection.

"Fuck!" Spike bucked and squeezed his eyes shut, desperate to keep from coming from the sting of pain and the feel of flesh encasing him.

"Don't rush," Xander said, smirking, and slid his lips over the head of Spike's cock.

Spike could only groan in response. His entire body was tensed and focused on the wet warmth around him and the amazing things that that tongue was doing to him. There were suction and sensation in just the right places, swirling around the tip, enveloping the shaft, while a hot hand jacked him off.

Opening his eyes, he saw that gorgeous dark head bent to its task and the straining erection that showed that Xander was as aroused by the activity as Spike was.

"Fuck, Xander. Close. I'm so... _Fuck_! I'm so close."

Then Xander took him in deeply and pulled back with just a hint of teeth. Spike felt his orgasm flare like a fuse burning from the base of his skull and the soles of his feet, joining in a ball of fire at the small of his back, and bursting out of him. He shouted, twisting and fucking into that waiting mouth, before melting back onto the bed.

Somehow, as he sprawled sated and spent, Spike managed to brush his fingers through Xander's hair in thanks.

"You taste really good," Xander said, kissing Spike's stomach and leaning back on his elbow again.

"And you've got a great mouth."

"Just think of how many times people have told me to shut it."

"It does have better uses than talking," Spike said, opening his eyes and grinning as much as his unresponsive body would allow.

Xander smiled at him, his eye still dark with arousal.

"I really want to fuck you," Xander said, leaning forward to nibble up Spike's chest. "If you taste that good, I can't imagine how you're going to feel."

Spike felt the blood crystallize in his veins, but he managed to keep the grin on his face.

"You'll never make it," he said.

Xander shot him a questioning glance.

"Look at you," Spike said, reaching over and trailing a finger along Xander's erection. He smiled as Xander sucked in a sharp breath. "You're so close that you'll come just thinking about it. Slick yourself up and you'll shoot all over your own hands." He gripped Xander's cock and pulled on it. "You'd never even get near me."

"Fuck, Spike," Xander said, rocking into Spike's fist and resting his forehead on Spike's shoulder.

"See how close you are? One touch of my ass against your cock and you'd burst. You'd be done before you could push into me, long finished before you could bury yourself inside." He moved his hand faster as Xander's thrusts became erratic. "You'd never feel me clench around you, never feel your balls slap against my ass. Never grip my hips and pound into me as hard as you want."

Groaning, Xander shuddered his release over them both before he collapsed onto Spike.

"See?" Spike pulled his hand out from under Xander and wiped it on the sheets before wrapping his arm around Xander's broad shoulders.

"Next time," Xander mumbled.

"Maybe next time I'll want to taste _you_."

"Heh. Won't say no. Gimme a minute."

"You'll need more than a minute, mate, but it's nice to see you're so eager for more. Of course, it is me we're talking about."

Xander snorted, the puff of breath brushing over Spike's chest like a caress.

"Egotistical much?"

"Who needs ego when it's the truth?"

Xander snorted again and trailed his fingers over Spike's skin. As his breathing and heartbeat returned to their normal rhythms, he shifted slightly and frowned.

"You know, there's got to be a less messy way to do this," he said. He rolled onto his side and used the edge of the sheet to clean both of them.

"Could always try the shower again."

Xander grinned and heaved himself to the other side of the bed. He held open his arms. "Come here."

Not fond of being in the wet spot, himself, Spike acquiesced and soon found himself draped over the larger man with the covers over them both. The heat soaking into him made the remaining tension in his body melt away.

"You know," Xander said, his voice thickening with sleep, "you don't have to rush off tonight. You could stay. Sleep here, have some more fun before sunrise..."

"Do I get breakfast in bed?" Spike asked, rubbing a hand along Xander's hip.

"Maybe. Just stay away from my neck."


	14. Chapter 14

When he was asleep, Xander liked to spread out. He had hated it when Anya used to press herself up against him for warmth instead of letting him sprawl in whatever position was most comfortable. He had a big bed because he liked his space.

When he was waking up or falling asleep, on the other hand, Xander liked to cuddle. There was nothing better than curling around a warm body and drifting in blissful semi-consciousness. He used to snuggle with Anya for hours on the weekends before other concerns, like showers, waffles, and the occasional rampaging demon with no respect for Sunday mornings, became too pressing to ignore.

So when Xander began to wake late the next morning, he rolled toward the center of the bed in search of the lukewarm body he had fallen asleep with the night before. He reached out an arm and a leg to locate his bed-partner but found nothing to stop his progress before he reached the opposite edge of the mattress.

The bed was empty.

Xander sat up, rubbing his eye and adjusting the band of his patch so that it was no longer digging into his skin. He didn't hear any noise from the rest of the apartment, nor did he find Spike during a quick search. Instead he discovered a note on his kitchen counter.

 _Couldn't sleep. Maybe breakfast some other time._

He stared at the words for a minute before shrugging away his plan of having a lazy - or more adventure-filled - day with Spike.

 _This is good. It's sunny out, so Spike would be stuck here all day, and so would I, because even with the soul I'm_ not _letting him hang out in my apartment alone. He'd probably mix all my cereals together and draw rude cartoons on the bathroom mirror with toothpaste. And if I_ was _here, he'd get on my nerves and drink all my beer and make me wish I could remember where I put those stakes. So it's definitely better he left. Besides, I never did get another waffle iron._

After crumpling up the note and throwing it in the trash, Xander went to shower and get dressed. He'd enjoyed the previous night, and the note indicated that there might be another time. He couldn't expect more.

 _It's not like I even_ want _more_ , he thought as he shaved after his shower. _I mean, sure, I want more sex. I like sex. Sex is good. Sex with Spike is great, and, god, five years ago that thought would never have passed my lips... gone through my brain, whatever. But I don't want more than that, not with Spike. He's not a waffles kind of guy, except to put blood on them to make me gag. He's_ Spike _._

He fixed himself a bowl of cereal, which he ate while watching cartoons and biting back the quips that ran through his head. He thought fondly to Sunday mornings back when Andrew had lived with him; debating animation styles and MST3King the worst shows was a weekly tradition.

 _Okay, I'm missing Andrew. That's a big flashing sign that I need a life._ He glanced over at the clock. _Maybe I should call Willow and see how things are going over there. Except she'll want to talk about my love life, and that would be really bad. 'Yes, I kind of am seeing someone. Well, not so much seeing as having great sex with. No, it's not serious, apart from the sex. Okay, it's funny but it actually_ is _another demon. He's got a soul, though, so... No, it's not Angel!' And there's another bad topic._

Willow had been so enthusiastic about the idea of Xander flying to England for Thanksgiving that she had managed to convince Angel to call and offer to pay his way. As his schedule was the problem, not the money, Xander had declined in one of the longest five minutes of his life. Angel had barely spoken, and Xander hadn't babbled like that since high school. Willow was still pouting about him not coming to visit.

So Xander decided that talking with her wasn't the best idea, and he didn't feel like sitting around watching TV all day. He turned on his computer to do some work but shut it down as soon as it had booted. He was feeling full of energy, despite his eventful night, and he decided to take advantage of his mood and go out.

Boston had plenty to keep Xander occupied, and, after buying some Christmas presents for his friends, he had a late lunch in a snooty café on Newbury Street, where he wrote a long letter to Dawn about the people walking by. She had teased him in her last letter than he only sent her short e-mails about drywall, so he made sure to include a long paragraph about the differences between drywall and plaster and why using products appropriate to the period of the building was so important in his business. He could almost hear her groaning his name as she read it.

Out sight-seeing and shopping until late in the afternoon, Xander picked up a pizza on the way home. He fumbled with it and the bags of presents over his arm to get to the keys in his coat pocket.

Xander jumped as a familiar pair of pale hands rescued the pizza box from sliding out of his grip.

"First with the following and now with the grabbing. Are you stalking me?" he asked, pulling out his keys. _Be cool_ , he told himself. _Be nonchalant. Pretend Spike waiting outside my apartment isn't making my heart race, even if he can probably hear it. Fuck. Be cool._ "'Cause if you're going to start going through my garbage I could leave it out for you and save you the trouble of dumpster-diving. Unless that's part of the fun."

"Think you've got a high opinion of your rubbish." Spike's nonchalance blew Xander's out of the water.

"Not really. That's why I throw it away." Xander opened the door and stepped back to see if Spike showed any interest in going upstairs with him.

Spike seemed to have that idea in mind, since he didn't hesitate before walking into the building, still carrying the pizza.

"That new Bruce Willis movie is on cable," Xander said, closing the door behind him. "Supposedly it has more explosions than any other film ever. You interested?" He tried to keep his tone light.

"What's on the pizza?" Spike asked, following Xander into the elevator. He cracked open the lid.

Xander's hand slammed down on the top of the box, and Spike raised his eyebrow.

"It'll get cold. And it's pepperoni and black olive."

"I'm in."

There was a brief flurry of activity - putting down bags and coats, fetching plates, beer, a big wad of napkins - once they got inside of the apartment, and then they both settled on the couch with the pizza on the coffee table in front of them.

The movie began with an extended sequence of explosions decimating buildings, cars, trains, boats, and a lemonade stand, and by the time the opening credits finally appeared Spike and Xander had polished off the pizza.

"Think there'll be a plot?" Xander asked, sitting back and kicking off his shoes.

"Nah. Probably used the money for paying writers to put in extra effects," Spike said. He pushed his plate out of the way and put his feet up on the table.

"At least they know what's important."

"Exactly. Who needs writers, anyway? The dialogue gets in the way of all the destruction."

"And it's not like... Wait, I thought _you_ were a writer," Xander said.

Spike choked on his beer and grimaced as Xander pounded him on the back.

"Who told you that?" he asked between coughs.

"You did."

"I bloody well didn't!"

"Sure you did," Xander said. "Okay, you were crazy at the time, but you did. You even wrote a poem for me."

"I did?" Spike eyes were wide with horror.

"Yeah. You rhymed my name with 'antler.' I always thought that was a weird choice. I mean, why not 'gander' or 'pander' or, if you wanted to go with something that might even make sense in a poem about me, 'sander'?"

"I was insane."

"It was still a poem. It rhymed. Mostly. And you told me you were a poet."

"I was insane," Spike repeated firmly.

Xander shrugged.

"All I'm saying is maybe you should have more respect for writers. There could be a struggling poet inside you trying to get out."

"I bloody well hope not."

Xander paused for a moment, thinking.

"There once was a builder named Xander, who was great with a power sander," he said.

"Shut up and watch the movie."

Around halfway through the film, Xander came back from a trip to the bathroom by way of the kitchen to find Spike having taken off his boots and sprawled over the length of the couch.

"Move over," Xander said.

Spike rolled his head where it rested on the arm of the sofa to look at Xander with steady eyes.

"There's a chair right over there."

"You're disrupting the sacred bond between a man and his couch. Move over."

"What're you gonna give me to make it worth my while?" Spike asked.

"Cookie?" Xander displayed the bag of chocolate chip cookies he had brought from the kitchen.

Spike reached for them.

"Nuh uh. Not 'til I get my couch."

Spike scowled but bent his legs so that he was only taking up two of the three cushions.

"Cookies," Spike said as soon as Xander was seated. He held out his hand.

After grabbing a couple for himself, he handed the package to Spike, who promptly stretched out his legs and settled his feet in Xander's lap.

"Great. Vampire feet are the perfect addition to any dessert," Xander said, staring down at them. The bones of Spike's feet looked surprisingly fragile beneath the thin layer of pale skin, and Xander found himself wondering if Spike had ever killed people with his toes.

"At least mine don't smell," Spike said.

"Don't breathe, then. Or go sit in the chair."

Spike grunted and bit into a cookie. They quickly settled back into the movie, interjecting their commentary about the increasingly thin plot.

After trying other options with limited success, Xander found that the most comfortable place for his hands was on Spike's legs, and he figured that if Spike didn't like it he could sit somewhere else. Spike didn't seem to mind, nor did he move a muscle when Xander began to run his hands without thought along Spike's calves. Enjoying the casual contact, Xander didn't stop when he realized what he was doing. It had been a long time since he had spent a quiet Sunday night with a friend.

 _A friend?_ Xander thought, freezing. Without taking his eyes off the screen, Spike nudged him in the stomach with his toes, and Xander returned to stroking his legs. _He's not a friend. If he were I'd be able to say anything, to ask anything. I wouldn't be wondering if something will set him off again or if he's going to disappear for another two years. No, he's just... Spike._

Spike's comments dwindled as the film progressed, despite the fact that there were plot holes that Bruce could've driven that exploding tanker truck through, and he didn't move when Xander turned off the television as the closing credits rolled.

Xander looked over to see Spike lying with his eyes closed, his body relaxed, and his lips twisted into a slight smile. Stilling his hands, Xander watched him for a moment, wondering if the vampire was asleep enough that he could slide out from under his feet without waking him.

"Don't even think about it," Spike said, not opening his eyes.

"Think about what?"

"Moving. I'm comfortable."

"Okay," Xander said. He started to stroke Spike's calves again.

"Was thinking about you at the restaurant today."

"Yeah?" He tried for nonchalance again and ended up closer to child-being-given-a-big-bag-of-candy.

"Thought about you coming into my office to surprise me."

"Like with balloons and noise-makers?"

Spike chuckled and shook his head.

"Not that kind of surprise, you git. I'd be behind my desk, working, and you'd come in and lock the door behind you. You'd have that look on your face you get when you're hard and ready."

"I have a look?" Xander asked, his voice slightly higher than usual. He coughed. He didn't know that he had a look, and he was surprised that Spike had noticed it even if he did.

"Oh, yeah. It's bloody gorgeous." Spike grinned wolfishly. "So you'd have that look on your face, and you'd walk around my desk and jerk my chair out. Then you'd sink to your knees and pull open my jeans."

"Yeah?" The picture was sharp in Xander's mind, and he squeezed Spike's legs more tightly.

"And then you'd suck my cock, just like you did so beautifully last night. Fuck, you've got a gorgeous mouth, and your hands on me... You'd suck me until I came and then 'til I was hard again. Wouldn't take long."

"Vampire stamina?" Xander shifted slightly to ease the pressure that Spike's words were causing.

"Good incentive, because when I was hard again I could fuck you. You'd gotten yourself ready, so all I'd have to do was bend you over the desk and slide all the way in. You'd be hot and tight and pushing back with every thrust. I'd find the perfect angle, and you'd come without me even touching you."

Xander swallowed, his eyes fixed on the obvious bulge in Spike's jeans.

"All over your papers? That'd be messy," he managed to say.

"I bloody well wouldn't care."

"You might the next day."

"Guess you'd have to come back and take my mind off of it," Spike said.

Xander thought about that possibility, and then blinked to try to focus on something other than the enticing pictures running through his mind.

"So that's what you thought about today, huh?" he asked.

His eyes still closed, Spike nodded.

"That and why I should have an executive washroom to wank off in. Had to come here straight after sunset."

"My bathroom has a lock," Xander said, trying not to grin. "I won't bother you."

Spike moved so fast that Xander had hardly registered the vampire's muscles tensing before he found himself pinned to the couch, Spike's face less than an inch away from his.

"I want to fuck you. Now," Spike growled. He kissed him before Xander could open his mouth to answer.

When Spike let him breathe again, Xander nodded.

"Yeah, okay," he said, slightly dazed and extremely hard.

Pulling at each other's clothes, they stumbled into the bedroom, and Xander soon found himself naked and on his hands and knees in the middle of the bed. Spike slid into him with as little preparation as he could manage and took him hard, holding Xander's hips still and fucking him thoroughly. Xander came at the first touch of Spike's hand on his erection, and Spike arched back and followed him into orgasm.

When Xander had recovered sufficiently to do more than watch the room spin, he found a clean spot on the sheets and pulled Spike with him. Xander absently carded his fingers through Spike's tousled hair as they lay curled around each other.

"You're going to mess up my laundry schedule, aren't you?" Xander said with a sleepy laugh. "I had this system where I could get by doing it every other Tuesday, but even _I_ think these sheets have to be washed."

"Could always get more sheets."

"That's an idea. I always knew you were smarter than you let on."

"And I always knew you were smarter than you looked," Spike said, but there was barely any bite to the words.

Xander grinned and tugged him closer.

"Glad you came over," he murmured, already dozing off. He didn't notice Spike moving until the vampire was already slipping out of his arms.

"You're not staying?" Xander asked.

 _No, that_ wasn't _disappointment in my voice. I'm just annoyed because I was comfortable._

"It's early for me yet," Spike said, pulling on his jeans. "Got to get back to work."

"Oh. Okay."

"Thanks for dinner and the shag." Spike shot him a satisfied grin, and Xander managed a half-smile in return. "Get some sleep. You look knackered."

"Yeah."

"I'll let myself out. No need for you to get up."

Xander lay on top of his tangled covers and listened to the front door shut behind Spike.

 _I_ am _tired_ , Xander thought, _and now I can get some sleep. It was nice to have a quiet - except for the noisy part, which was great, too - night with Spike, but it's not like I wanted him to stay. It's good. I'm good._

Closing his eyes and relaxing again, Xander ignored the small but uncomfortable knot forming in the pit of in his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Bits of Chapter 15 of "Nothing is Forever"](http://flaming-muse.livejournal.com/211210.html).
> 
> [A synopsis of the rest of the story](http://flaming-muse.livejournal.com/305719.html).


End file.
